


Bucky Barnes' Guide to (not) Dating your Neighbor

by endrega_Turtlesse



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes Has A Prosthetic Arm, Bucky Is Pepper's PA, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Owns A Building, Deaf Clint Barton, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Millennial Bucky Barnes, POV Bucky Barnes, SHIELD Agent Clint Barton, Unreliable Narrator, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, basically I play in the sandbox of canon as I want to, one brief mention of sexual violence, the angst snuck in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endrega_Turtlesse/pseuds/endrega_Turtlesse
Summary: Bucky finally has two arms again, a new, well-paying job, and now he's moving into his own apartment. Sure, the landlords seemed sketchy, but it will be fine. Smooth sailing from now on, right?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 152
Collections: Winterhawk Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harishe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harishe/gifts), [HeyBoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyBoy/gifts).



> [ The wonderful Harishe made art for this!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649130)  
> [ And the amazing HeyBoy made Bucky's playlist and a cover art for it! ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662819)  
> Check them out, they're both fantastic!!

Bucky doesn’t know whether or not to curse himself. The move had been his idea, yes, and he’s glad he’s finally moving out from Becca’s apartment, but he didn’t know moving would be this hard. He doesn’t own anything! How are there so many boxes already in the apartment _and_ still in the car?

He’s now moving box number five full of his sci-fi collection – or, well, half of it. And thank god for his new prosthetic, he doesn’t know what he’d do without it. Books are heavy enough with two hands, no need to make his life more difficult – the army did that for him. He’s not huffing though, thank you very much. He’s in very good shape and anyone who says different is lying.

He’s halfway to the elevators when a crash comes from outside, and he freezes instantly. Oh hell, he thought he was over that.

He takes a deep breath and shakes himself – there, moving. _Good Bucky._ He barely has a moment to turn around though before – _woof!_ – he’s on the floor.

He’s still blinking in shock when first a pair of boots then – _bad Bucky, no_ – the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen steps into his view.

“Hey,” Gorgeous says, wincing, “sorry about Lucky, man, he got spooked. You alright?”

Bucky opens his mouth to answer but to his embarrassment nothing comes out, just a low whimper. _The arms on this man, by god._ If Bucky were religious, he’d thank God but as it is, he might have to start wearing a kippah again.

“Aw, no, did you hit your head?” Gorgeous kneels down and starts to frantically feel around the back of Bucky’s head. That, if nothing else, gets Bucky into motion. After two years stateside he still can’t let anyone get near his head, as much as he’d like to let this particular someone do it.

“Hey, no, I’m fine,” he sits up and smiles at Gorgeous as reassuring as he can. Apparently, he’s not very successful because Gorgeous’s frown only deepens, and isn’t that a pity.

“I’m so sorry,” Gorgeous quickly leans back. “It’s just, Lucky was frightened – he’s still pretty afraid, you know – and he ripped his lead out of my hand. I’m so sorry, I’ll pay if you broke anything, my fault, totally.”

That makes Bucky realize the box isn’t in his hand anymore. It’s lying next to him, and the one glass bookend he put in there has fallen out. Bucky winces.

“Yeah, I know,” Gorgeous says, sounding defeated.

Bucky looks up at him and takes stock, properly this time. Messy blond hair, band-aid stuck on his nose which in itself is crooked, slight bruising on his breathtaking jaw, sweater with more holes than fabric in it, jeans with food stains that seem to have made a life there, unlaced boots. Yeah, disaster human. _Goddamn it, Bucky._

“It’s fine,” he smiles up at Gorgeous, more real this time. “It’s not broken. It’s fine.”

Gorgeous seems to take a moment and then nods, like he’s putting himself together.

“Let me help then.”

Bucky considers him for a moment; he didn’t let Becca help him move even though she threatened her red velvet cake at him. (If he has to sit through the smells of it baking and then be denied one more time, he won’t vouch for himself. Becca is cruel.) But somehow the thought of Gorgeous helping didn’t make him feel quite so trapped – not quite okay either, but his therapist told him to do uncomfortable things.

“Yeah, okay,” he decides, and he must imagine the pleased look into Gorgeous’s smile. “If you tell me your name.”

Gorgeous smiles wider and extends his hand.

“Hi, I’m Clint.”

Bucky looks down at Gorgeo- Clint’s hand – his left hand, to be exact, as Clint’s right hand is full of squirming dog.

Bucky swallows. His prosthetic looks real enough – Stark did an excellent job, as always – and Becca told him more than once that it feels real, too, for a short time at least, but…

Clint’s smile dims a little and he moves like he’s about to pull his hand back, and that makes Bucky decide.

“Hi,” he grasps Clint’s hand carefully. “I’m Bucky.”

Clint’s smile returns in full force, and Bucky has to look away.

“Let’s get the box up, then. You have more? Which apartment is yours?”

\--

Turns out Bucky lives right across from Clint, because fate either really loves him or hates him. Depends on whether he imagined Clint’s looks whenever Bucky bent over.

They carried up his boxes from the car, unpacked a bit and then Bucky felt like he had to order pizza to say thanks. The way Clint lit up at the mention of it definitely made him glad he did. They spent the evening watching stupid TV, introducing Clint to tumblr, laughing over nothing, and eating more pizza than strictly healthy for either Bucky’s body or wallet – but he figured he could afford it for once, now. He definitely hadn’t indulged himself in a long time, not since Afgha- not since he moved in with Becca.

This was probably the first person he connected with on any level since then, aside from his sister, therapist, or Stark. Oh, Ms. Potts, now, too. And man, was that super weird, still. ( _The_ Ms. Potts. _The_.)

The evening has been fun – his therapist will definitely be proud – but now Bucky is standing in front of his own window, staring out at his own view, and he can’t sleep. It’s just annoying, is what it is.

His therapist warned him the insomnia could come back; new job, moving, new apartment – lots of new things. It’s natural.

Doesn’t mean it’s not annoying.

He sighs and then turns back to the empty apartment. He might as well unpack.

First things first: airbuds in and “fucking chores” playlist turned up to the max. The first chords of Mr. Brightside blast into his ears, and Bucky feels his shoulders relax.

First, all the cooking stuff, then his clothes, and he’ll be ready for Monday. His books can wait – and besides, he has to unpack, he doesn’t yet have time to get stuck reading.

He dances through the apartment to the sounds of The Killers, dropping off things as he passes. He has to keep busy or he won’t have a reason not to be asleep; he’s good at that, though. He takes the time to fold up each t-shirt again as they come out of the box; he hangs his suits (plural!!) and scarves one by one. He puts his socks and underwear into their drawer, separating them carefully in the middle. He shakes his ass with each step he takes, and he carefully doesn’t think of anything other than the next one.

When his clothes are all in pristine order he moves on to the kitchen. He puts his pans and pots into a drawer. Then he puts the baking sheet next to them because the drawer looks too empty. He puts his blender and mixer in a cupboard, and his plates and custom mugs in another one. Then go the glasses, the utensils, the rolling pin, the cutting board. The napkins, the rubber bands, the toothpicks. When all else is done, he places the piece de resistance: his 200-dollar high-end coffee maker at the place of honor: the left corner of the tiny kitchen counter.

Then, he’s done. He stops in the middle of the kitchen, just breathing. He needs a moment to process the fact that this is _his_ kitchen; no one will mind if he bakes at 3am, he will have to clean up no one’s messes but his own, no one to judge how much sugar he puts into his coffee in the mornings.

Then _Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time_ comes on and he’s off.

He twirls out into the living room, raising both hands over his head as he goes; a smile stretches his lips wide. He feels good for the first time in a good while – whole. He has two hands to raise, he has a booty to shake freely, and he has a pair of scissors to sing into.

_“You shoulda seen what I wore_

_“I had a cane and a party hat_

_“was the king of this hologram_

_“Where there’s no such thing as getting out of hand”_

He truly doesn’t care, and he has to laugh with the sensation. He can belt out Panic! at the Disco in the middle of the night if he wants, and no one will mind. Becca won’t worry he’s not sleeping or eating or taking care of himself. He has enough money to afford to rent his own apartment, a kickass new job with the badass that is Pepper Potts, a new arm, and maybe someone who would like to shake his booty for him.

Yeah, he can take on Monday.

\--

He cannot take on Monday.

He got into work not even half an hour ago and it is already pandemonium. He hasn’t seen Ms. Potts, yet, but he’s already fielded three calls, two people and roughly three hundred email requests for her. It certainly isn’t helping matters that he barely slept the whole weekend (although he did unpack completely and spent a bit more time chatting to Clint in the hallway and no, he wasn’t watching for him).

He sighs and looks back down at his tablet. Another email, yay. From HR, even better.

He taps carefully at the touchscreen, opening it.

> _from: jjones@hr.starkindustries.com_
> 
> _to: vpotts@starkindustries.com_
> 
> _09:39 AM_
> 
> _Dear Ms. Potts,_
> 
> _I am writing to inform you that Cletus Kasady had to be fired from his position as main artist for the launch of the new Stark Prosthetics line due to several instances of severe sexual misconduct. There is not enough time to find someone new for the position and have them complete the work in a month, so I regret to say that the launch will have to be postponed._
> 
> _Best regards,_
> 
> _Jessica Jones_

Oh hell. That is… not great. Bucky was supposed to be the guinea pig (test subject, whatever) for a whole line of new prosthetics, and Ms. Potts said that Stark has rarely been this excited over something. This will not make Bucky’s day easier, for sure.

Just that moment the door opens and Ms. Potts swoops in. Her eyes light up, and Bucky couldn’t say truthfully that he doesn’t feel some pride at that.

“Bucky,” she says, relieved. “Finally. Please tell me you have some good news. I already had to deal with Tony this morning and I’m not awake enough for that. Why he always forgets I’m not his PA anymore when he was the one who made me CEO, I will never understand.”

Bucky winces.

“Well, I can tell you how many people I dealt with for you?”

Ms. Potts huffs and walks around her desk to sit down.

“Okay, so what’s the bad news?”

“Cletus Kasady – you know, the main artist for the prosthetics line launch? – had to be fired, and HR says there isn’t time till the launch to hire a new one and have them finish on time, so we’ll have to push back the launch.”

“Oh my,” Ms. Potts leans her head back. “I do not want to be the one to tell Tony that. He says we desperately need good PR and to tell you the truth, I think he’s right. That lawsuit with Hammer didn’t look great, no matter that we won.”

Bucky nods. “I’m not sure about whether they’re right, though,” he counters hesitantly. “I mean, in the original timeline the artist would have had three weeks to finish, it was only chance that Kasady started earlier. So if someone could be found in a few days we could still have time to implement the designs.”

Ms. Potts leans forward as her eyes narrow. “It would be really tight,” she says slowly, “but it _could_ work…”

“You want me to go down to HR?”

“Thank you,” she smiles at him, quick. “Let’s see if we can’t work out something before we tell Tony about it.”

\--

Bucky makes it down to HR just before noon. It’s significantly nicer than he remembers from his contract signing, but then everything is nicer without anxiety.

Despite never having met her, he finds Jones immediately. Her desk is in a corner, situated to be far enough from everyone, and judging by the way she’s glaring at anybody who even looks like they’re thinking of getting close to her, it was by her design.

Bucky swallows. _You came back from Afghanistan, you can face her_ , he tells himself sternly, and resolutely walks over.

“Jessica Jones?” he stops before her desk. “I’m Bucky Barnes, Ms. Potts's PA. I’m here because of your email.”

Jones doesn’t even look up, but it feels like she’s glaring at him. “No.”

Bucky blinks. “…no?”

“No.”

“No… what?”

Finally Jones looks up, and Bucky is full-on jealous of her murder-face.

“No, I will not do whatever you want me to do. I had to deal with one creepy artist, I will not look for another one for at least two weeks. I need to get rid of that shit.”

Bucky blinks at her again, then shrugs. “All artists can’t be creepy, no?”

Jones snorts and kicks up her legs on the table.

“Sure. You bring me someone who actually understands what this launch means for disabled people and manages to be respectful to everyone, no matter what, and I’ll sign them on. Until then, get out.”

Bucky keeps in a snort.

“Fair enough,” he nods. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

He turns towards the elevators when Jones calls after him.

“Sure you will, pretty boy!”

\--

“Soo, I did not tell you Jones wrote the email.”

“Oh god,” Ms. Potts groans. “Sometimes I think the only reason we haven’t fired her yet is because she steals the termination notice from the pile before it could be delivered to her. She refused, didn’t she?”

“Well, she told me to bring someone who, and I quote, actually understands what this launch means for disabled people and manages to be respectful to everyone, no matter what. I can’t really argue with that. There’s a small gallery on my way home, though, they always seemed open and inclusive. I’ll ask them to send over contact info for anyone they think would fit and be interested.”

“You’re a godsend, Bucky,” Ms. Potts smiles at him and Bucky can’t help but smile back. “And you’ll have to show it to me sometime, it sounds like a good place. I’m sure they could use some support.”

\--

Despite having slept so little this weekend, Bucky still can’t sleep. He went to bed but just kept turning around, so he’s officially deciding this calls for ice cream. Quite extraordinary amounts of ice cream. Sadly, he hasn’t yet bought ice cream, so late-night ice cream run it is.

He finishes quickly at the store (the perks of shopping at a time no sane person would be awake). However, when he gets off the elevator, he stops short.

“Clint?” he calls out. “Why are you sitting in front of your door?”

Clint’s head snaps up and for a moment Bucky sees his own face staring back after a particularly nasty nightmare. Then Clint lights up.

“Bucky! Hey, what are you doing out this late?”

“Couldn’t sleep, ice cream,” Bucky shrugs, holding up his shopping bag in explanation. He stops for a moment and does a quick calculation. He really planned to eat the whole box of ice cream by himself, but… Clint lit up when he said Bucky’s name. “You wanna join?”

Clint looks conflicted so Bucky shakes the bag in his direction again.

“Come on, I got cookie dough. Next time we’re both awake at ass-o’clock you can get the ice cream.”

Clint laughs, and Bucky wants to crawl inside that laugh and live there forever.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint clambers up, still smiling brightly. “Lead the way, then, Oh Mighty Ice Cream Man.”

“’Mighty Ice Cream Man’?” Bucky looks back, laughing, as he opens the door to his apartment.

“Why not,” Clint shrugs. “You have ice cream, you’re a man. True, you’re not very big, though, so maybe not,” he smirks.

“Hey!” Bucky protests, smiling widely though so that kind of ruins it. “I’ll have you know I am very mighty. I was the best shot in my unit, you know.”

If possible, Clint lights up even further.

“Best shot, huh? I bet you can’t win against me.”

“Yeah?” Bucky challenges. “And why’s that? You’re looking at the best shot in my training pipeline, too.”

“World’s Best Marksman, here,” Clint points at his chest.

“That’s a ridiculous title, and it doesn’t make you the better shot,” Bucky shoots back. “You will have to prove it to me, you know.”

“Yeah?” Clint smirks and Bucky can’t look away. Let him die in this moment and he’ll be happy. Bucky licks his lips and Clint’s eyes flick down to follow the movement, but then he snaps his eyes away.

“Anyway,” Clint clears his throat awkwardly.

Bucky pouts a bit at the disappearance of the SmirkTM but then he also looks around, casting about for something to do.

“Hey, will you be able to get back into your flat?” he frowns. “Did you get locked out? I can call the landlord for you if you don’t have your phone. He seemed like kind of a dick, though, so I don’t think he’ll come out in the middle of the night.”

Clint’s eyes snap back to him, indignant.

“Hey, I’m not a dick! Also, I could pick the lock if I wanted to. But nah, I didn’t shut it,” he shrugs, “the apartment just seemed a bit small, you know?”

“Wait, you’re the landlord?” Bucky blinks. Clint… Clint does not look like a landlord. Also, he did not rent the place from Clint.

“It’s not the lockpicking you focus on? What, you think I cannot do it?”

If Bucky hadn’t been looking quite so much at Clint’s face, he might have missed the tiny flash of hurt. He has been, so he sees it.

“No, no, no,” he quickly shakes his head. “You’re just not the guy who I met when I rented the place. Or at least, you don’t look seedy and Russian,” Bucky jokes to lighten the mood, and he’s gratified when the tips of Clint’s lips lift a bit.

“Hah,” he smiles around the word, and this time Bucky’s eyes flick down to Clint’s lips. “Nah, they sold the building to me. Or, well, I won it from them. Same difference. They kinda want it back but don’t worry, I’m handling it. They were using it for money laundering, you know.”

“Oh, wow. I’m glad you have it, then,” Bucky smiles, and Clint lights back up.

“Okay, okay, where’s the ice cream? I was promised ice cream.”

Bucky laughs and thrusts the shopping bag still in his hand at Clint. “Okay, Mister, open the box, then. I’ll get the bowls.”

\--

When they’re settled on the couch, Bucky nudges Clint.

“So, World’s Best Marksman?” It’s not that he wants to be upstaged, or that he has nothing else to talk about, just… Clint looked so excited when he said it.

Clint blinks at him, then grins.

“Ooh, yeah, man. I was a trickshot in the circus, you know?”

“The circus,” Bucky repeats, blinking. “You were in the circus?”

Clint shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable, but then he plasters on a grin. _Aw, no._

“Okay, so you ever seen a circus show?”

“Not since I was a kid,” Bucky shrugs. “Not many opportunities in the army.”

“My best shot was blindfolded on a horse, three arrows into three bullseyes at once,” Clint boasts, and Bucky’s mind shorts.

“Wait, what?”

_That is so, so, so incredibly hot, oh my god._

“Hell yes!” Clint exclaims, and Bucky leans to the side just in time to avoid getting hit by Clint’s spoon. “I broke a bone or two learning it, but it was totes worth it! I can show something like that sometime, there’s an archery range nearby I go to. No horses though,” Clint pouts.

“I- okay” Bucky croaks. How he’ll survive watching that, he doesn’t know, but damn if he’ll miss out on it.

“Hey, do you watch Dog Cops?” Clint changes tracks, and Bucky has to take a moment to comprehend. And to will down his boner. _Bad Bucky._

“Yeah, you wanna? I have some DVR-d,” he offers.

\--

Later, they’re sitting on the couch, both absolutely full of ice cream. Clint’s dozing against the back of the couch, head lolling back in a way that definitely shouldn’t be cute on a grown man, and Bucky is close to sleeping himself.

“Hey,” he nudges at Clint. “Shouldn’t you go to bed?”

Clint grumbles sleepily but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Can’t hear you, shitty aids,” he grunts. “Come back when it’s morning.”

Bucky huffs. “Come on, doll. You’ll get a crick in your neck.”

“Doll?” Clint’s eyes open a slit.

Bucky shrugs as much as he can without dislodging Clint.

“Is it not okay?”

Clint’s face is inches away and he seems to realize that at the same time as Bucky. Bucky can’t keep his eyes from flicking down to Clint’s mouth, and he looks back up, hopeful he’ll see the same thing he’s feeling.

The look on Clint’s face makes him freeze, though. He looks frozen, himself, and not in the good way; in the deer-in-the-headlights kind of way.

“Clint?” Bucky asks gently, frowning a bit. “You okay?”

Clint opens his mouth a few times, seemingly unable to decide what to say, before he shakes his head sharply.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbles as he jumps up, away from Bucky. “Sorry,” he stops, turns halfway back, and runs out the apartment.

Bucky stays frozen, staring after Clint. The apartment door swings closed with a slightly louder bang than comfortable, and Bucky jumps. A moment later he hears Clint’s door open and close, and then the night is as silent as it ever gets, just the sound of cars filtering in.

\--

Bucky doesn’t sleep that well the rest of the night, and he spends the next day like a zombie. He’s pushing four days without proper sleep and he’s not gonna function for much longer. He does contact the artists the gallery recommended, though, and asks them to write back very soon, so that’s something. He also has a therapist appointment which is bad for his exhaustion, but very good for sorting out his feelings from last night.

She does convince him to try to talk to Clint, at least. Bucky couldn’t have imagined all the looks, and not just last night. So if nothing else, they owe a conversation to each other.

He gets home determined to have that conversation, but as he rounds the corner, he sees Clint surrounded by three large men all wearing tracksuits, looking uncomfortable as he gesticulates widely.

Bucky breaks into a jog, nervous all of the sudden.

“Hey!” he shouts as he gets near. “What’s going on?”

They all turn towards him, the men wearing scowls instead of faces. Clint barely glances at him, though.

“We’re fine,” he dismisses Bucky.

“You heard him,” one of the tracksuits spits out, his accent strong enough that Bucky can’t ignore it. “We’re fine, bro. Move on.”

Bucky squints his eyes at them. The five tracksuits stare belligerently at him, almost as if they think they can make him run off. They certainly seem like the type who would usually be able to do that, but Bucky has seen much worse and came back able to laugh.

“Clint?” he turns to him instead, but Clint’s resolutely not looking at him.

“We’re fine,” he repeats.

Bucky regards him for a minute longer and then shrugs.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he smirks at the tracksuits, moving to stand next to Clint. Whatever happened between them last night, he will not let Clint face five guys alone.

He widens his stance and crosses his arms, directing his best murder-glare against them. He might be short, but he grew up with three sisters and survived DODT with his identity intact. He has the skills to take them out and he knows it, and he also knows how to make sure they know it, too.

Clint huffs beside him but doesn’t say anything. The lead tracksuit scoffs at them, but after a minute or so of icy silence from the two of them narrows his eyes.

“Fine, bro,” he bites out. “Don’t think we won’t be back, though.”

They turn and walk away, but Bucky doesn’t loosen his stance until they’re around the corner. As he lowers his arms, he feels Clint turn to look at him.

“You know, you said you were army but until that moment I couldn’t really see it,” Clint comments idly.

Bucky huffs. “Well, there was no need for it before.” He looks over at Clint, and they share a soft smile. “You want to tell me what this was about?”

It’s not like Bucky doesn’t have his own suspicions, but he learnt the hard way that more intel never hurts. And, truth be told, he’d like to hear it from Clint.

Instead of answering, though, Clint looks away and starts for the door.

“Clint?” Bucky follows after him, leaning forward to catch the door.

“Let it go, Bucky,” Clint smiles back at him, but it’s strained this time.

“Come on!” Bucky throws up his hands. “Those guys were trouble. Were they the Russians you got the building from?”

Clint doesn’t answer, just jabs the button for the elevator. Bucky huffs and shakes his head. This isn’t a great start to their conversation. He follows Clint into the elevator in silence, though, but as the doors close, he looks over.

“Okay, you wanna talk about last night?”

If he thought Clint was closed off before, he was wrong. Clint’s face shuts down completely.

“Just forget it,” he snaps, voice flat.

Bucky stares at him, mouth open.

“You can’t just say that!” he exclaims.

“Yeah I can,” Clint snaps again.

The elevator doors open and Clint steps off almost before they’re fully open.

“Clint!” Bucky hurries after him. He doesn’t even know anymore what went wrong, he just knows that this is way off track. “Please?”

At that, Clint stops right in front of his door like it actually is a magic word, one hand on the doorknob already.

“I-” Clint looks back, looking torn.

Bucky smiles hesitantly and starts walking closer. “You don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, doll,” he says gently. “I just wanna know what’s going on in that head of yours. We can go on from there – or not. I’m not trying to pressure you into something you don’t wanna do. And I just wanna help with those tracksuit guys. If they’re the guys you told me about a lot of people in this building would be better off with them gone.”

Clint snorts, a bit wet sounding.

“I call them the tracksuit mafia,” he offers.

“There you go,” Bucky smiles a bit wider.

Clint takes his hand off the doorknob and steps towards Bucky. Bucky feels himself smile at Clint; maybe they can work this thing out, after all.

Right that moment Clint’s door opens, and Bucky feels himself freeze as a gorgeous redhead appears.

“There you are, little bird,” she tells Clint, who snaps his eyes around at her. “I’ve been waiting for you; we have to leave.”

Clint looks rapidly back and forth between Bucky and the redhead, and Bucky feels his heart freeze over. So that’s why Clint freaked out over an almost-kiss. Bucky would, too, if he had a girlfriend waiting for him.

“I- I gotta go,” Clint says to Bucky.

Bucky has to force himself to smile for the first time around Clint. “Yeah, I get it. Catch you later.”

He moves past Clint in the hallway and gets his door open in record time. As he moves into his apartment and closes his door, he hears nothing but heavy silence from behind.

Why does it seem to always go south with Clint?

It doesn’t look like he’ll get his archery presentation any time soon, either.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky spends the next two days licking his pride and working his ass off. At least the second one is starting to pay off; from the five names he got he contacted three, all amazing and seeming to fit the profile. A Peter Parker, an amazingly talented young photographer; a Mary Jane Watson, an incredible young woman with skills that made Bucky swoon; and a Steve Rogers, an artist whose work already appeared in several grass-roots campaigns. Of the three, Parker wrote that he doesn’t have the time, and Watson told him she doesn’t work for corporations, period, which Bucky can respect (even though he works for one and likes it). But Rogers said yes, and he’s coming in today to discuss details.

They agreed on a 2PM meeting, so Bucky has to cut short his lunch break instead of the usual take-as-long-as-you-possibly-can-justify. But, well. Sacrifices. And he’s too nervous to really eat, anyway; this will be his first time on the other side of that desk.

He arrives back in the office of Ms. Potts just on time. In fact, he barely had the time to settle in at his desk when someone raps on the door.

Bucky takes a big breath and smooths down his shirt.

“Come in,” he calls out.

The door opens immediately and the smallest, cutest guy steps through.

“Hi,” Bucky smiles at him. “Steve Rogers?”

“That’s me,” the guy says, and Bucky quickly offers him his right hand.

They shake and Bucky revises his opinion. With a handshake that strong, Rogers has to be the smallest cutest angriest guy. He regards Rogers for a moment and makes a snap decision.

“Come on,” he snatches up his coat. “Let’s go to the coffee shop next door. This is way too stiff; I’ll get you a coffee.”

Rogers grins at him, quick.

“In that case, call me Steve.”

Bucky grins back at him. “Bucky, then.”

“Ooh, I wanna hear the story behind that name.”

\--

Bucky goes home late that night. He and Steve really hit it off, way beyond what he expected. Aside from already having drawn up a contract (and Jones and Steve had been one of the funniest pairs he’s ever seen in his life), he likes the guy personally, too. It felt good, after all the Clint shit.

Just as he’s about to enter his building, though, he feels the hairs rise on his back. He looks around, and right at the corner is another tracksuit. Bucky narrows his eyes at him and buffs himself out, but the guy doesn’t seem to be doing anything other than staring, so after a bit Bucky gives up and goes inside.

He’s worried, though. He hasn’t seen any tracksuits the last two days, but it can’t be good news that they’re back. Now that he thinks back, he might have seen them when he moved in, too; in fact, they were probably what scared Lucky in the first place. So that would mean that they disappeared for three days that time; it’s been two days since their last appearance already. They are bound to come back, and come back soon.

He debates with himself for a minute or two, but in the end the danger wins out. His pride can take hits if it must, but the old people and families living in the building can’t.

He knocks on Clint’s door with some trepidation. He stands back and takes some deep breaths; but Clint doesn’t open the door.

Bucky frowns and knocks again, louder this time. Maybe Clint has taken out his aids, but Lucky should warn him.

After a minute of nothing Bucky closes his eyes. So Clint doesn’t want to talk to him, fine.

“Clint?” he calls, swallowing back his pride. “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, but the tracksuit mafia is back again. Think whatever you want about me, you cared about them enough already to buy the building from them so just ignore that it’s me telling you, okay?”

He waits a bit, but Clint doesn’t answer back. With his throat closing up, Bucky nods once and turns away.

\--

A day later and Clint still hasn’t resurfaced, and what’s more, there’s been no Lucky on morning walk. Bucky could imagine Clint being so angry or embarrassed that he wouldn’t want to talk to Bucky, but not that he wouldn’t walk his dog.

Bucky is trying to stay optimistic but it’s getting harder to ignore that nibbling fear. He’s seen the tracksuits twice more already, and if Clint doesn’t come back, he knows he will have to do something. He wishes he didn’t have to, though.

Texting with Steve is turning out to be fun, though, and he has another therapy session to get to, so he puts it out of his mind.

When he gets back home, he stares down another tracksuit from the door. This time he doesn’t go inside until they leave, and they seem to have learnt some kind of lesson because they don’t come back that day.

Sunday is much of the same, but he has to go to work on Monday. He’s dreading having to leave, but when he gets into the lobby, he forgets all that.

“Bucky!” Steve is there, waiving at him. “Come on, I need your help!”

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky jogs over, smiling. “What do you need?”

“I need to sketch your arm. I already talked to Ms. Potts, she said you’re free for the day.”

Bucky feels himself freeze up. Yeah, he says he’s fine with the arm, but that’s usually with the assumption that people don’t know about it.

“You okay with it?” Steve frowns at him, and Bucky curses the punk for being so perceptive.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he forces out a smile, but Steve doesn’t take it.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’ll just look up references online. I thought your arm would be the best because it’s the prototype, but we don’t gotta. Not if you’re uncomfortable, okay?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and thinks it over. On one hand, he really doesn’t want to, especially because of the scars all around the shoulder, but if it would help others get the miracle he did…

“I don’t gotta be in it, right?” he asks hesitantly. “Like, the rest of me?”

Steve shakes his head so quickly Bucky is distantly afraid it will fly off.

“No, no, no, it’s just the arm. I would sketch a shoulder to go with it, but it doesn’t have to be yours. Many people have shoulders, I can borrow one from them,” he jokes, clearly to lighten the mood, and Bucky can’t help but snort a bit. Not like he’d want to keep it back either, not for Steve.

Steve smiles up at him, looking relieved, and Bucky nods.

“Okay, let’s do it, then. Where should we go?”

Steve grins and nods at the elevators.

“Come on, I reserved a room for us. Just you, me and my sketchpad.”

Bucky follows him to the elevator. Steve pushes the button for the eleventh floor, and they stand in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Somehow Bucky vibes with Steve in a way he hadn’t with anyone except with Becca – and maybe Clint, but now he really doesn’t know where they stand.

When they get off the elevator, Steve leads the way to a small conference room with actual walls and a wooden door instead of the glass on the lower levels. There isn’t much inside – a smallish table, chairs around it and a projector – but they fill up the space.

Steve puts his binder on the table and turns to Bucky.

“I need you to strip,” he says, wincing slightly. “I know you probably don’t do it for many people and I’m sure you’ve got scars, so if it would make you more comfortable, I can take my shirt off, too. I’ve got my fair share of scars, too, from a bunch of surgeries, so you wouldn’t be alone,” he jokes. “I just need to see your arm clearly.”

Bucky breathes carefully, and takes the time to think it through.

“Do I have to take my tank top off?” he asks in the end.

“Does it cover any of the prosthetics?”

“A bit,” Bucky shrugs. “It goes over my shoulder to balance the weight.”

“Then yeah, sorry,” Steve winces again.

Bucky takes another deep breath and then nods.

“Can you take off your shirt, then?”

“Sure,” Steve flashes a smile at him, and reaches up to unbutton his shirt. “At least I don’t have to wear a shirt,” he grins. “I swear these were made to torture artists. Do you know how hard it is to not smudge your sketch if your cuff is hanging off your arm?”

Bucky barks out a laugh, surprised.

“Is that not what cuff links are for?”

“Do you think I can find clothes that don’t hang off this?” Steve shakes his wrist at Bucky, now free of the shirt, and Bucky can’t help but laugh.

“Well, you shoulda grown thicker, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve shoots back, but the corners of his mouth are pulling up. “For that I should draw you with skinny arms,” he says, eyeing Bucky’s bicep as it’s revealed from the shirt.

“Hey! I worked hard for that! Don’t you dare take an inch away from it!”

Steve winks at him, and Bucky huffs. Then he’s naked from the waist up and he can’t help but stiffen up a bit, but Steve doesn’t spend more than a glance at the scars around his shoulder. His eyes do linger a bit on Bucky’s chest, but he can forgive that – he worked hard on that, too, after all. A little appreciation doesn’t hurt. Steve spends the longest looking at his arm, though, and that makes sense, so Bucky manages not to feel uncomfortable about that.

After a minute or so, Steve nods.

“Okay, can you sit in that chair first? And put your arm on the table. I’ll be able to get a thorough sketch that way, and you won’t get tired holding up your arm.”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs and sits as instructed. Steve adjusts his arm a bit after Bucky gives him permission to touch it – and Bucky can’t be grateful enough for Steve’s unobtrusive understanding. Then Steve himself perches on a chair, and they’re off.

After five minutes, Bucky starts to realize the biggest challenge: he’s getting bored.

“Hey, Steve,” he kicks Steve’s chair lightly.

“Hmm?” Steve raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“I’m booored,” Bucky whines, letting his head fall back against the back of the chair.

At that, Steve does look up, but he’s laughing, the bastard.

“Whatever shall we do,” he grins at Bucky. “Think of it this way, you could be talking with Senator Stern about whatever very important thing he needs Ms. Potts for.”

Bucky glares at him, but Steve just continues grinning and goes back to his work.

“Not funny,” Bucky grumbles, thumping his head back again. “I regret telling you about that now, just so you know.”

“Oh, I don’t know how I’ll live with that,” Steve laughs quietly, and Bucky kicks his leg this time, for good measure.

“Hey!” Steve glares at him. “If you make me mess up, we’ll be here longer, you know.”

Bucky groans and closes his eyes.

“Tell me about something, if you’re bored,” Steve suggests, but Bucky snorts.

“I’m not falling for that again, punk. You’ll just use it against me.”

“Well, then,” Steve shrugs, “deal with the boredom. You can move your left hand, at least. Imagine if I was doing a full-body portrait.”

Bucky shudders.

“No, thank you. Do people actually want that?”

“You’d be surprised at the self-pompous assholes,” Steve snorts. “I hate taking commissions from them, but I gotta eat. They’re the worst clients, too, they think they’re always right.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, I have to deal with them, too. They think I don’t have a right to tell them that no, Ms. Potts doesn’t have time to deal with their stupidity personally. As if I wasn’t her PA, you know. It’s literally my job.”

“To tell them they’re stupid?”

“Meh,” Bucky rocks his hand. “It creates more shouting if I say it like that, it’s just not worth it.”

“Ms. Potts doesn’t mind?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

Bucky snorts again. “She told me it was one of the most entertaining moments of her life when I told an ignorant fuck to, quote, fuck off. He wasn’t doing anything useful, but he wouldn’t stop pestering Ms. Potts, so I took care of it. I haven’t seen her laugh so hard, ever.”

Steve breaks out in laughter. “Oh god,” he wheezes out. “I need a boss like that. All my bosses were assholes, that’s why I went independent.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugs, “the army wasn’t so forgiving, either. But Ms. Potts is a cool boss. I actually thought she was kidding when she offered me the job, but she and Stark convinced me she wasn’t. I just didn’t think she’d want someone like me,” Bucky nods at his prosthetic.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Steve frowns at Bucky. “You can do anything someone with two original arms could. I’ve seen the test results.”

Bucky shrugs again. “It was more dicey then, it was still brand-new and I had problems guessing the force I needed. I broke a few StarkPads. I’ve got more fine control now, though, but it’s still not perfect.”

“You’ll get there,” Steve looks at Bucky, and Bucky has to swallow at the absolute confidence in Steve’s look. It’s not like they’ve known each other for long, where does the guy get the nerve to have so much faith in him?

“Thanks,” he mumbles and looks away.

A few minutes pass in silence, then Bucky starts getting restless again. He tries to keep still, he does, but in the end, Steve smacks his leg.

“Don’t move your arm around,” he warns. “You know what happens if I mess up.”

“Ughhhh,” Bucky groans, but he stills. “Does it bother you if I get scrolling?”

“As long as you don’t move your arm or get between it and me, you can do whatever,” Steve shrugs. “I’m not your nanny.”

Bucky snorts. “Okay, don’t get your panties in a twist but I’m gonna move my arm to get my phone out.”

Steve looks up at him and shakes his head. “Oh no, whatever shall I do in those two seconds.”

Bucky huffs at him. “I just didn’t want you to complain,” he smirks as he fishes out his phone.

“So far you’ve done most of the complaining,” Steve points out as Bucky stills, but Bucky doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

Instead, he opens up tumblr and he’s quickly lost in fanarts and cat pics. The next time he looks up it’s to his stomach rumbling, and Steve huffs out a laugh at him.

“Lunch break?” he suggests, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah, let’s go over to the diner a block over, I’ll have them put it on SI. The food at the cafeteria is shit.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Let me just pack my stuff up, I don’t want to leave it lying around.”

“I’ll text Ms. Potts to see if I should bring anything back for her,” Bucky nods again. “Also, we should probably dress up again. Going shirtless is not exactly socially acceptable in this part of Manhattan.”

Steve laughs. “Are there parts where it is?”

“I can show you a few clubs,” Bucky winks, and he’s gratified when Steve laughs again.

\--

They don’t spend long over lunch, and Bucky is surprised to discover he doesn’t mind. As much as he had dreaded Steve drawing his arm it didn’t turn out to be that bad. In fact, once he got over the fact that he was half naked with his scars on full display, it became quite chill.

The afternoon goes by quickly, too, in bursts of snark that remind Bucky painfully of the few times he spent time with Clint. Steve makes sketches of a few more positions, and by the time he declares it done, Bucky is tired, and the day is over.

He just wants to soak for an hour and order take out.

However, the moment he rounds the corner of his building he feels all that evaporate in front of his eyes. In front of the building, right in front of the door, is what will keep him from his dream of a lazy evening.

He sighs. He might as well get it over with, right? There’s always a fight.

“Hey guys, you looking for something?” he shouts as he gets closer.

The tracksuit guys whip around at his voice, and Bucky would almost feel some satisfaction at having caught them unawares were it not for the overpowering regret.

“Bro, we looking for someone, not something,” the one closest to Bucky replies with a sneer. “You them?”

“That depends what you want,” Bucky stops a foot from them. He eyes the door wistfully, but there’s no way they’ll let him through.

“We want building, bro,” the lead tracksuit says. “You gonna give message to Arrow Guy?”

“Who?”

“You know who, bro,” the lead tracksuit says.

“Yeah, bro, the other asshole,” the one to the left butts in.

“Ah,” Bucky nods. “You mean Clint.”

“I don’t care what his name is, bro, I just want building back. You gonna give message to Arrow Guy, bro, or are we gonna send it the hard way?”

Bucky looks around the tracksuits. There are still five of them, but this time he’s alone. They look buff, too, and at least two look like they’re carrying. _Yeah, not good._

On the upside, they don’t look very trained, more used to getting what they want by way of intimidation, so as long as Bucky doesn’t get into the middle and they don’t pull guns it should be fine.

“Fine,” he grins at them, all teeth, and lets the millennial Bucky melt away. In his place is the best damn sniper in the whole US army, as far as Bucky is concerned, and a battle tank when need be. He squares his shoulders and settles into a ready stance, still leaving his hands down but ready to move the minute he needs to.

Two of the tracksuits actually take a step back, and Bucky grins even wider. He still got it, ha.

The lead tracksuit steps forward, though.

“Bro. We will futz you up, bro,” he spits.

“Come on, then,” Bucky challenges, still grinning, watching all of them at once.

They look around each other, and then they’re moving.

They rush to cage Bucky in, but Bucky dances away from the building to put them on one side. They change direction quickly, though, so Bucky lets one get close enough to get a swing at him.

He catches the fist in his right hand and squeezes, _hard_. He can actually hear bones cracking, and the tracksuit cries out.

Bucky shoves him in the way of two others and turns towards the other two. He jumps around them, and he throws a punch at one of them as he goes. He feels the satisfying crunch as it connects, and the guy staggers back.

The other tries to block him but Bucky kicks him in the knee and feels it give way. The first guy recovers, though, and then the others are on him, too.

One of them tries to circle around him but he stops him with a sidekick to the knees. Now he’s down to two.

He spins away to put them firmly on one side, and they stop and look around. Lead tracksuit looks uncertain for the first time, eyeing Bucky with trepidation. Bucky looks around them – three of his goons are down, and the one standing is holding his fractured fist to his chest.

Bucky grins at them. Yeah, this is his game, now.

The goon is looking like he’s regretting most of his life-choices leading up to this point, but lead tracksuit’s face hardens again, and he spits at Bucky’s feet.

“That all you have, bro?”

Bucky bares his teeth at him.

“Do you want to find out?”

The lead tracksuit growls and launches himself at Bucky. He’s clearly thinking with his anger, though, so Bucky neatly sidesteps him and raises an eyebrow at the goon.

He almost laughs at the way the goon visibly falters, then turns and runs away.

Bucky turns back to lead tracksuit. He’s just gearing up for another rush, and Bucky flicks his eyes up to the faces watching from behind closed windows from his building. He locks eyes with a tiny boy next to an even tinier one, and he winks at him.

He turns back to lead tracksuit and lowers and widens his stand, grounding his feet into the pavement. Then, as lead tracksuit snarls and rushes him, he concentrates for just the right moment, and then…

_There._ He grabs lead tracksuit around the waist and shoulders, moves with it, and yeets the motherfucker against the wall.

Lead tracksuit smashes into the wall to what feels like a collective gasp from the windows. Bucky grins up at the two little boys and salutes, and they go nuts.

Bucky lets out a laugh, too, feeling adrenaline coursing through his veins. He looks around at the tracksuits on the ground, then steps over to lead tracksuit by the wall.

“Don’t come back,” he points at him.

Lead tracksuit nods blearily, and Bucky grins, satisfied.

He goes into the building still high on adrenaline, making sure it’s locked properly behind him, but as he jabs the button for the elevator, he starts crashing down. He steps into the elevator glad that it takes him directly to his and Clint’s floor. By the time the elevator arrives he’s shaking.

It takes him three times to fit his key into the lock, and he barely kicks it closed before he’s sinking onto the floor next to it.


	3. Chapter 3

On Tuesday, he asks for an emergency therapist appointment.

“How do you feel about what you did?” his therapist asks him, first thing after he told her what happened, and he doesn’t know whether he hates or loves her.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, and she tsks at him.

“Come on, James,” she nudges him. “I know you have feelings. You can’t fool me, remember?”

Bucky huffs and then leans back.

“I dunno,” he shrugs again, but this time she waits him out. “I guess… I guess I feel a lot of things, you know? And it’s confusing.”

“Let’s start with one, then,” she nods.

Bucky sighs.

“Okay, how about anger?”

“Who are you angry at?” she nods again.

“The tracksuit mafia, that’s easy,” Bucky snorts. “Come on, you can do harder.”

“Okay, then, what are you angry about?”

“That they used the building for money laundering, and now won’t leave the people alone.”

“What else?”

Bucky blinks at her. “Why do you think there’s something else?”

“You told me I can do harder,” she winks. “That means there’s something harder there.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky tells her, but it’s without heat. “Okay, I’m angry that Clint left me alone to deal with them. Happy?”

“Immensely,” she tells him in a flat voice. “So what do you want to do with your anger at Clint?”

Bucky sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I like him, but he’s been pretty clear I need to back off. Also, I’m ninety percent sure he has a girlfriend.”

“Ah, that’s not an easy situation indeed. Why are you ninety percent sure he has a girlfriend?”

“Well, she was in his flat without him, and they seemed very familiar. I can’t be a hundred percent sure because he hadn’t explicitly said it but combined with the way he was trying to push me off, I am ninety percent sure.”

“That makes sense, though don’t forget about that ten percent,” she says.

Bucky grimaces but nods.

“Are you angry about anything else?”

Bucky stops to think but then he shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright then, let’s move onto another emotion,” she tells him.

“Relief,” Bucky decides.

“That’s a good emotion,” his therapist says. “Why are you relieved?”

“Because I managed to fight them off,” Bucky shrugs. “No one innocent got hurt.”

“That’s good,” she says, and Bucky tries not to feel to good about her approval. They talked about that. “What else?”

Bucky huffs at her but thinks.

“Afraid,” he admits in the end. “That they will come back when I’m not there, or that I won’t be good enough. Or,” he adds after a second, “or that Clint won’t come back. I don’t want him to be hurt or something. And I know it’s stupid because I’ve known him for not even two weeks, but I miss him.”

“It’s not stupid, James,” she tells him. “You don’t have a lot of people you talk to, it’s natural to miss someone you get along with well.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugs.

“Please try to believe that,” she asks him, and smiles when he nods. “Okay then, that was really good. You’re getting better at self-inspection, you know. What else do you feel? As much of a mess it is with Clint, I don’t think that’s what made you call me,” she flashes a smile.

Bucky huffs out a laugh but nods.

“I’m not sure what, though,” he tells her.

“It’s okay, take all the time you need.”

Bucky closes his eyes to think. He’s really not sure what made him that upset; he’s been through adrenaline crashes before and they’re not as bad. He runs through yesterday’s events: morning commute, Steve, the arm, lunch, getting home…

“Oh,” he lets out as he gets it. “I was upset I had to fight again.”

“Ahh,” his therapist says. “That makes sense. You said before you wouldn’t go back even if you could.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “It was fine while I was doing it, but…”

“I know,” she agrees. “So what made you fight this time? I’m sure you could have avoided it somehow; I know you have the skills.”

Bucky nods, but doesn’t speak. To be honest, he’s not sure himself. When he woke up in Walter Reid, he promised himself he wouldn’t go back to fighting, ever again. It’s not even that he knows the residents that well. Sure, he’s seen some in the lobby or the elevator, but he doesn’t have a connection to any of the-

“Ohhh, man,” he groans and lets his head slump forward. “I feel like I owe it to Clint,” he looks at his therapist.

“Ahh,” she says again. “Do you?”

Bucky flattens his mouth. “I’m not sure,” he says.

“Then you should talk about it with him,” she raises an eyebrow.

Bucky grimaces but nods.

“If he comes back.”

“When he comes back,” she corrects him gently.

Bucky huffs but doesn’t fight her. “Fine, when he comes back.”

\--

The week goes by without tracksuits, but also without Clint. Bucky was feeling good on Tuesday, but as more days go by, he’s getting worried again.

Finally, Saturday comes around, and Bucky tries to keep busy. He decides to test out his kitchen properly – the brownie way.

The kitchen is tiny, but he will be able to report to Becca that it passes the test. He puts the tray in the oven and sets the timer, content to throw himself on his couch until it’s ready.

The moment his ass hits the cushions, though, someone shouts outside his window.

Then someone else. Multiple someone elses. It would qualify as a fight, were he looking to qualify things that mess up his brownie time.

He sighs and stares up at the ceiling. His therapist didn’t say he was wrong to fight, right? If he did it once to make sure people were safe, can he not do it to protect someone this time? Maybe they’re not even fighting, just shouting. And the noise he hears is them enthusiastically stomping on the ground to make a point.

Yeah, okay. Whatever.

He grabs his keys and makes sure his door is properly closed, then skips the elevator. Instead, he vaults down the stairs, grabbing onto the railing with his right hand and grunting at the tear in his shoulder. That’s probably not what Stark had in mind when he designed it, right?

He bursts through the door. At first, he’s not even sure who he’s seeing; six or seven tracksuits are crowding around a single mostly-upright figure. They don’t have any weapons out, but their fists and feet are flying, and Bucky winces in sympathy even as he’s moving closer.

Then, the tracksuits shift a tiny bit apart. For the first time, Bucky gets a glance at the guy in the middle – Clint. His face is screwed up in pain, his jaw bleeding, but he’s still in a constant flurry of motions. Just that moment his foot lands in the groin of a tracksuit, who cries out and folds.

Then, another one kicks Clint in the knee, forcing him down, and Bucky sees red.

If someone asked him later, he honestly couldn’t tell them what happened. One moment he’s running towards the fighting; the next, three of the tracksuits are down, and the other three are running away.

“Wow,” he hears, and he looks down to find Clint sprawled there. “You know, I have never seen anyone do anything like that, and I’m friends with Natasha.”

“Natasha?” Bucky frowns down at him.

“You know, my friend,” Clint waves a hand. “The redhead. You met her.”

Bucky’s throat closes without his approval. Not nice. “Ah,” he forces out.

He turns to look around, instead. Distraction is good, right? The three leftover tracksuits have also scampered off, so it’s just the two of them. And a bunch of people watching from the windows.

Bucky waves up at the boys from last time. The older one hesitantly waves back, and Bucky feels himself smile.

“You met Simone’s kids,” Clint comments, following his gaze.

Bucky snaps his eyes back to Clint and clears his throat.

“You could say that,” he twists the corner of his mouth. “You gonna get up your ass anytime? You seem awfully cozy, there.”

“You were handling it,” Clint shrugs. “Besides, I didn’t need your help.”

He tries to sit up, and Bucky watches as Clint falls back on the ground.

“Sure you didn’t,” Bucky agrees. “You gonna get yourself checked out?

“No hospitals,” Clint grabs at his arm.

“Clint,” Bucky looks down at him, feeling helpless.

“No hospitals,” Clint stresses.

Bucky sighs. “Then call Natasha,” he says, although the suggestion twists something in his chest.

Bucky gives himself the mental disapproving LookTM. As long as Clint’s fine, it doesn’t matter. _It doesn’t. Bad heart._

“No can do,” Clint shakes his head. “She’s busy right now, I just came home early.”

Bucky stares at him, incredulous. “Six guys just beat you, Clint,” he points out, but Clint shakes his head.

“She has better things to do,” Clint says mulishly.

Bucky frowns, he can’t help it. What kind of girlfriend is she if her boyfriend’s health comes second? And what were they doing that can possibly be more important than Clint?”

“You need medical help,” he tells Clint, and pushes all those questions from his mind. “Come on, I’ll patch you up,” he motions inside with his head.

“I’ll be fine,” Clint protests, but Bucky can see where he’s holding his ribs gingerly.

“How about you come up by choice or I take you up on my shoulder?” he raises his eyebrows.

Clint huffs. “I’d like to see you try,” he smirks.

“Yeah?” Bucky challenges, and starts to bend down.

Clint raises his hands before Bucky gets close enough to grab him, though. “Okay, okay!” he laughs, and it’s Bucky’s turn to smirk.

“Come on, then,” he holds out a hand, and Clint grasps it.

The way up to their floor is silent, Clint staring resolutely ahead, and Bucky eyeing Clint carefully. He can feel too many questions and insecurities swirling around him; good thing he’s focused on patching Clint up, instead.

They get off the elevator and Bucky fishes his keys out from his pocket. He checks that Clint hasn’t slipped inside his own apartment, but no. He’s standing, there, slightly leaning against the wall, and Bucky quickly opens his door.

The moment the door opens, though, a horrible burnt smell wafts out.

“What,” Bucky turns around to stare at Clint. “You made me burn my brownies,” he accuses, voice flat and unbelieving.

Clint winces. “Aw, brownies, no,” he mutters.

Bucky shakes his head.

“Go into the bathroom and don’t bleed on my carpet. I’ll throw out the brownies.”

Clint pouts, but after a stern look from Bucky he sighs.

“I honestly feel more sorry for the brownies than the tracksuits,” he grumbles as goes.

Bucky looks after him fondly, but then he springs into action. He quickly takes out the tray and throws the brownies into the trash with a sad look, and opens the windows on his way to the bathroom.

Clint has already taken off his shirt, so Bucky has to stop for a moment and close his eyes, but then the sight of blood overpowers the muscles. _(For days, man! muscles for days_ , _focus, Bucky._ ) He takes his first aid kit from the cabinet and puts it down on the counter. Then, he tries to look at Clint with a professional eye.

He’s banged up, that’s for sure, but Bucky doesn’t think most places will need stitches, just a slash across his chest and a deeper cut on his jaw, the rest will be fine with butterfly bandages or just some disinfectant. He has a nasty bruise just below his right peck, and Bucky is somewhat afraid his ribs are bruised or even broken.

“Can I?” he steps in front of Clint, who nods at him and swallows.

“Sure, be my guest,” he creaks out.

“I’ll be gentle,” Bucky promises, and he frowns the look of frustration that passes through Clint’s face.

Bucky presses down carefully, though, feeling around the bruise, and whatever look was on Clint’s face disappears as Clint winces. Bucky winces in sympathy but doesn’t stop.

“It might be a bit bruised, but it seems fine,” he declares shortly. “Sit down and I’ll take care of the cuts.”

He turns away to get the disinfectant and medical thread and needle, but Clint’s hand stops him.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” Clint asks hesitantly, but clearly concerned. “Did they do something to it?”

Bucky frowns at him for a second, but then he looks down. Ah. He poked at Clint with both hands.

Bucky screws his eyes shut. This, _this_ , is what he’s been avoiding for the last five months, ever since he came out of the attachment surgery. He hated the looks aimed at his missing shirtsleeve with a violent vehemence, but he actually thought maybe he put all that behind him.

“It’s a prosthetic,” he says gruffly, looking away. “Lost the original in Afghanistan. Can we move on?”

“Oh,” Clint says softly, and Bucky looks back. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

Bucky takes a breath and looks at Clint deeply.

He doesn’t seem disgusted, or too interested, he just looks… normal.

Then Bucky’s eyes flick over to the bright purple hearing aids behind Clint’s ears, and Clint, as if sensing Bucky’s thoughts, turns one ear towards him.

“Yeah,” Clint twists his mouth. “I get it. You don’t gotta talk about it, though, in fact I’ll forget I noticed anything, okay?”

Bucky looks back in Clint’s eyes, and finds them completely serious, without any hints of joking for once.

“You don’t have to forget it,” Bucky tells him quietly. “Just don’t pull attention to it.”

Clint nods, and Bucky turns back to the first aid kit.

When he turns back, Clint’s sitting on the toilet seat, and Bucky perches on the edge of the bathtub next to him.

“You ever had stitches?” he asks.

Clint huffs but nods.

“Okay then, you know what to expect,” Bucky says softly and begins.

He disinfects and stitches the slash on Clint’s peck, first, then the cut on his jaw. Then he puts away the thread and needle, and gets some butterfly bandages. He goes around carefully, putting a bandage on every cut he deems deep enough. All throughout, he can feel Clint watching him with something like amusement, but he doesn’t stop until he deems it done.

He swabs the disinfectant at every little cut he can find, until Clint pushes at him.

“Come on, Buck, I’m fine,” he grouches.

Bucky grumbles but he sits back. Then he springs up and grabs the disinfectant and leftover bandages. He places everything meticulously in its place, making sure nothing sticks out at all, until he can’t ignore the fact that he’s procrastinating.

Bucky waited until Clint is patched up, but then he can’t keep it bottled up any longer.

“You know, I haven’t seen you in a week,” he says as casually as he can manage as he puts away the kit.

“Yeah, I was away,” Clint says, and Bucky looks down at him.

“I noticed,” he says, flat. “I was looking for you, you know.”

Clint winces, then winces again as it pulls his stitches.

“Sorry,” he offers, but Bucky isn’t placated.

“You coulda at least told me you were going away!” he turns fully back sharply. “You know, so I wouldn’t be worried?”

“Hey, it’s not like we’re that close!” Clint defends, and it hits Bucky deep.

He sits down, and he turns to stare at the wall, just to avoid looking at Clint. It’s true, they’re not actually close. He told his therapist himself, didn’t he? And just because he finds he’s getting attached fast, he can’t expect Clint to feel the same way. He lets out a breath.

“Can you at least tell me where Lucky is?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Oh, Kate took him, that’s actually unrelated,” Clint says, sounding relieved. “She usually takes him when I have to leave for a few days, though.”

“Who’s Kate?” Bucky asks, risking a look at Clint.

“Oh, she’s like me but prettier,” Clint grins. _Oh no._ “We shoot arrows and look fabulous.”

Well, I think you’re real pretty, too, Bucky doesn’t say. Instead, he asks, “Do you shoot them at the tracksuits?”

“It was totally deserved!” Clint exclaims, throwing his hands up, and Bucky tuts at him. “Well, it was,” Clint repeats as he sheepishly puts his hands down.

“Did you pull out your stitches?” Bucky asks, keeping his voice level.

“Nah,” Clint shakes his head. “Wait, how did you know about the shooting thing? At the tracksuits, I mean.”

“Wasn’t hard to guess,” Bucky shrugs. “The tracksuit guys called you Arrow Guy, I didn’t think you’d invite them to archery presentations.”

Clint doesn’t register the dig, though.

“When?” Clint frowns. “I didn’t hear them say that. Are my aids dying again?”

“Nah,” Bucky shakes his head, starting to get resigned to not being able to get mad at Clint. “They were looking for you last time.”

“Wait, last time? What last time?”

“I fought off five of them on Monday,” Bucky huffs. “You know, while you were gone. Like, not around?”

“How did you do that?”

“That’s not the point, but I was special forces, Clint. Did you forget?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at him.

Clint throws his hands up.

“Yeah, but I’m a kinda active SHIELD agent! You’re not supposed to out-badass me!”

“You’re a what?” Bucky frowns. “I haven’t heard of Shield.”

“… oops.”

“Oops? Clint.”

Clint rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, so this looks bad,” he says sheepishly. “But I promise it’s nothing bad? But I also can’t tell you anything about it and please don’t ask because I don’t want to have to disappear you.”

Bucky blinks at him.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Meh,” Clint wobbles his hand, and Bucky has to close his eyes for a moment.

“Okay, well, don’t tell me,” he says when he can talk calmly again. “Tell me about the tracksuit mafia, then.”

Clint shrugs.

“Well, they’re a bunch of thugs who think it’s okay to extort people who can’t afford to move. You’ll get to know the rest of the folks here the next grill night and you’ll get it,” he offers. “Otherwise there’s not much to say about them. They stay away for a few days every time I fight them off, but so far, they’ve always come back. I’m sure they’ll stop, though! They can’t go on forever, right? They have to get bored sooner or later.”

“Will that be before or after they beat you into a bloody pulp?” Bucky can’t stop himself from asking, and he regrets it a bit from how Clint blanches. He also really doesn’t, though.

“Well, you don’t need to put yourself in danger. I can handle myself, ” Clint bites out. “I know you’re a badass, okay? I get that. But I’m not a maiden in distress either, I’m a fucking SHIELD agent! Yeah, I can’t bench-press three tracksuits with one hand, but I can shoot damn well, and I’ve gotten through life without dying, thank you very much!”

Bucky suddenly feels like his therapist.

“I didn’t say I want to help,” he points out. “Hell, even I don’t know if I want to help or not. You can ask my therapist if you want, at this point I only know that I feel guilty if I don’t help. But also, Clint, I know you can handle yourself,” he softens his voice. He hesitates a bit, then mentally throws his hands up. It can’t hurt to try, right? His therapist would be proud. “But you don’t _have_ to. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Clint looks up at him sharply, but his voice is hesitant. “Are we friends?”

“Well, I’d like to be,” Bucky shrugs. And also a hell of a lot more, but not like that will happen, so. He’ll settle for friends easily and count himself lucky.

“I- Yes, okay,” Clint lifts a corner of his mouth. “We’re friends. You can count yourself in a lucky group of four.”

I am lucky, Bucky doesn’t say. He has a feeling that would be pushing it too far. Instead, he asks,

“So will you call me if you need help?”

“Whatever,” Clint looks away.

“Hey!” Bucky reaches out and grabs his face to turn it back, then snatches his hand away horrified. “Ugh, sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Clint looks back at him, his gaze curious. “Just don’t grab again without asking. So what were you about to say?”

Bucky stares at him for a moment more, then shakes his head.

“That you don’t get to whatever asking for help away,” he says.

Clint looks at him, hard, and Bucky has to fight not to look away from his gaze. For the first time since they met, he can see the whatever agent in Clint. He has that assessing look, that sees way more than it should by law of nature, that Bucky recognizes from his unit.

Whatever Clint must see, he nods reluctantly.

“Okay, fine. I’ll call you if I need help. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Only if you mean it,” Bucky shrugs, and Clint grimaces at him, although his eyes are laughing.

“You don’t let anything slip by you, do you,” he asks.

“If you grow up with three sisters you learn,” Bucky tells him gravely, and he’s gratified when Clint laughs.

They stay there sitting for a little while, then Clint claps once.

“Okay, let me make the brownies up to you. You call the pizza guys, I pay?”

\--

On Monday, Stark is waiting for Bucky in the lobby.

“What did you do to my brainchild?” Stark demands, grabbing Bucky’s arm. “Come on, into the lab, I wanna see just how badly you ruined it.”

Bucky sighs but doesn’t fight it.

“It’s not that bad, you know,” he says. “It doesn’t really glitch, I just wanted to make sure it’s not gonna get worse.”

Stark huffs at him.

“Yeah, forgive me for not taking you at your word,” he jabs the close button on his private elevator, letting go of Bucky’s arm once the door’s closed. “I still remember the testing process.”

“Hey!” Bucky protests. “I just didn’t wanna get thrown out!”

“Yeah, and I told you specifically to tell me if anything malfunctions,” Stark lowers his sunglasses to stare at Bucky. “But you called me this time, that gets you a temporary pass,” he turns back to the elevator door, pushing the glasses back. “If you tell me what you did to it. You were awfully cagey about that.”

Bucky grimaces. He omitted as many details of what exactly happened to the arm as possible, and he doesn’t feel like telling it now. He doesn’t know why, but he knows Clint would not appreciate others knowing about the tracksuit mafia, and even if Bucky doesn’t agree, he wants to respect it.

“How about I tell you what happened to it physically and you don’t ask for the circumstances?” he offers.

Stark looks at him, eyebrows high.

“You in a fight club, Barnes? You know Pepper would appreciate it if you didn’t kill her assistant. You’re the first one she doesn’t complain about when we eat. You know what, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill her assistant, I enjoy not having to listen to her complain about incompetent assistants.”

“I’m not in a fight club,” Bucky says, incredulous. “Why would you even think that?”

“Well, one,” Stark extends one finger, “to reiterate, you’re awfully cagey about what happened, pun absolutely intended. And as far as I know the first rule of fight club is don’t talk about fight club. And two,” Stark extends another finger, nodding towards Bucky’s jaw, “that’s either a bruise or a very – and I do mean _very_ – enthusiastic love bite. In which case I’m jealous. I also want to be banged so good I fuck up my state-of-the-art prosthetic.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky bites out, face red.

Stark shrugs and turns back to the door again, just as it opens into his workshop.

“Just saying. Come on.”

He steps off the elevator, and Bucky follows him into the depths of the workshop.

As many times as Bucky’s been here, he still can’t help but be amazed. The whole floor is covered in wonders, and Bucky sometimes feels like he stepped through a portal, into the distant future. Parts of mysterious machines cover tables; others are filled with tools; others again with finished products.

As the elevator doors open, three bots roll forward to crowd around Stark, and Bucky has to smile. They had always been one of his favorite parts of the lab. They are all absolute sweethearts, even if they act like trouble more often than not; but every time Bucky became overwhelmed during the trial or checkups, they would to their best to distract him.

Then U notices Bucky and begins chirping excitedly, which catches the attention of DUM-E and Butterfingers, too, and in a moment, Bucky finds himself surrounded.

“Hey, fellas,” he laughs and offers his prosthetic for inspection. They inspect it gravely, and when they find it adequate, they chirp their approval one by one.

Then, Stark clicks his fingers and holograms spring up around the space, giving it an even more futuristic feel. Some, like the schematics of his prosthetic over a table on the other side of the room, Bucky could easily identify; others once seemed mystical but became glaringly obvious once Stark explained what they showed; and others still he will never understand.

“Come on, chop-chop,” Stark calls over to him, and Bucky realizes he froze again at the door, staring at the holograms, even as the bots have abandoned him.

He hurries over to the chair Stark points at and takes off his shirt, by rote at this point. He places his arm on the table as Stark perches on a chair next to him, and watches as Stark takes off the flesh covering and opens up the access panel of the arm.

“You feeling alright?” Stark asks without looking over at him, and Bucky releases a tension he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Yeah,” he replies, then adds honestly. “It’s weird, it’s been a while since you worked on the arm. I’ll be fine, though.”

“Okay, good,” Stark nods, then moves on immediately. “Tell me about what you did to it, then.”

Bucky huffs out a breath and thinks.

“Okay,” he says slowly,” I jumped over the railing of the stairway – don’t ask why, I won’t tell you – and I held onto the railing to catch myself. And I punched a punching bag with it.”

“A punching bag, huh,” Stark briefly glances at him. “And the punching bag punched back. Okay, let’s go with that. Was the railing first?”

“I punched a few days before the railing,” Bucky admits. “But everything worked fine. Then, yeah, the railing, and then I went punching a bit more.”

“Okay, so it did not like the railing,” Stark hums, lighting into the arm with a tiny light. “How much force was there to it? Did you run and jump, or just jump?”

“Run and jump, from the fourth floor, and I grabbed onto the railing on every level to slow the fall.”

“Okay, so four railings, correct?” Stark picks up a tiny screw.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods.

“And how did it feel? Did you feel something then, or just later while punching your bag?”

“I felt something tear a bit,” Bucky grimaces. “But there was no blood, I checked, and the connection doesn’t hurt.”

“You should have that checked up on, anyway,” Stark puts to the side the panel he unscrewed. “JARVIS? Make an appointment for Barnes, here.”

“Done, sir. Mr. Barnes, you have an appointment today at 3 PM on the medical floor, Dr. Simmons.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Bucky smiles up at the ceiling, even as Stark huffs at him.

“Okay, I think I found the glitch,” Stark says through the screw in his mouth. “Sit still, I’ll disable the arm so it doesn’t hurt, don’t be surprised. Ready?”

Bucky takes a big breath and nods. “Ready.”

Stark flips a tiny switch and the arm goes dead. Bucky stares out the window and tries to ignore it, but it’s hard. It’s a very weird feeling, the dead weight without the sensory feedback, and one that Bucky had always hated. It reminds him of the moment he lost his real arm – and no, _nope_ , not going there. Think of something else – Steve and the sketch, think of that. How is he moving along with that? Bucky will have to check on that soon, make sure it’s going to be finished in time. Or think of Clint, what is he doing now? Maybe he’s off being a Shield agent, whatever that is, and maybe he’s in danger right now – nope, not thinking of that either.

Bucky doesn’t even notice his breathing getting faster until he feels something bump into his left arm, and he looks down to find U there.

U chirps at him, distressed, and Bucky reaches up to pet his strut.

“Hey there,” he tries to smile at him, and finds it more honest than he expected.

U chirps at him again, but this time it’s more content, and Bucky keeps petting his strut.

“There,” Stark announces sometime later, and suddenly feeling comes back into Bucky’s arm. “Move it around, Ash Williams, and let’s see if it’s ready for monster punching.”

Bucky snorts but obligingly rotates his wrist and then his arm.

“Seems, good,” he says after a minute. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Stark says brusquely, packing up his tools. “Don’t jump over more railings and we’re good. Now go, you’re cluttering up my space.”

\--

On Wednesday, Clint invites Bucky over for dinner.

“Hey,” he says, smiling down at Bucky in a way that does not make Bucky’s knees weak, thank you very much, after Bucky opens the door. “I ordered too much pizza, do you wanna come eat?”

“There’s no such thing as too much pizza,” Bucky jokes, but then Clint’s face falls. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Bucky holds up the hand not holding the door. “I was joking. I’d be happy to come over, just let me get my keys. I don’t wanna be shut out.”

“You don’t trust the landlord to open it?” Clint ask slyly, and Bucky grins.

“Hey, man, I know for a fact the landlord can pick locks if he needs to. I don’t want to disturb him, I hear he’s gonna be eating pizza with a friend.”

Clint lights up and laughs, and Bucky feels something warm in his chest.

“Oh, man,” Clint says after a while, still chuckling. “I needed that, thanks. Get your keys, come on.”

“Already have them,” Bucky holds them up. “Got them while you were busy laughing. Let’s go, I was promised pizza.”

Clint grins at him, and they cross the hallway to the other flat.

“Lucky, down,” Clint says sternly as soon as he opens the door. Bucky’s confused for a moment, but then the door bangs open and a golden ball of fur barges out.

“Lucky, no!” Clint grabs for the dog, but he’s evaded, and Bucky finds himself on the floor, again. “Bad Lucky, come on, don’t lie on the nice man,” Clint tries to get the dog off, but Bucky waves him off.

“Hey, it’s fine, not like I haven’t been in this position before,” he jokes, this time clearly winking at Clint to make sure it gets across. To his surprise, he sees a hint of bright red on Clint’s face, just before he turns away.

“Okay, good,” Clint says, and is he a little choked? “I’ll get the pizza out, he’ll be off you as soon as he smells it.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Bucky tells him cheerfully, and then turns back to the lapful of dog he has. “Hey,” he sinks his hands into Lucky’s fur, and in response gets a wet tongue in his face.

“Yuck,” Bucky grimaces and leans as far as he can. “That’s disgusting, don’t do that,” he tells Lucky, but he just wags his tail.

Bucky sighs.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, before giving in and raising his hand to scratch Lucky’s ears.

His mouth opens in a doggie grin, and Bucky can’t deny that it’s cute. In a very heavy, wet-face-like way.

Then, “Hey, Lucky!” Clint shouts from the apartment, and Lucky takes off, conveniently stepping on Bucky on the way.

“Oof,” Bucky creaks out, lying his head back. “Your dog stepped on me!” he shouts to Clint.

“Well, if you were lying on the floor,” Clint says, from much closer than Bucky expected. Bucky raises his head, and he has to swallow at the way Clint is leaning in the doorway.

“He pushed me down,” he says after a moment.

“Well, you let him,” Clint says, and before Bucky can so much as open his mouth to protest, continues. “Coming? Before Lucky eats all the pizza. He’d be up vomiting all night.”

“I wouldn’t want that,” Bucky nods gravely, then snorts.

“Good, good,” Clint smiles at him as he gets up, and Bucky almost misses his footing. This is becoming way too ridiculous.

Then he looks down to avoid looking at Clint and sees the state of his shirt.

“Ugh,” he groans. “Your dog got doghair all over my shirt.”

\--

In Bucky’s world, ridiculous situations call for a ridiculous solution.

“Hey, you’re coming over tomorrow,” he announces into the phone.

“Hello to you, too, Bucky,” Becca snarks, and Bucky smiles, feeling better already. “Also, why should I go over tomorrow? Please note that I haven’t agreed, yet.”

“You’re coming over, one, because you haven’t seen my flat, yet,” Bucky sticks out a finger, even though Becca won’t see. “Two, because I tried to bake last week and it burnt, which can’t stand, I need you to scare my kitchen into compliance. And three, because I need you to shake some sanity into my head.”

“Ooh, Bucky Bear, that sounds serious,” Becca croons, and Bucky winces. Yeah, he’s done it now. “One, I was giving you space, you were so anxious to get your own place, but I’m glad that’s over, I will be coming over pronto. Two, are you okay? You _never_ burn your cookies. Is the world ending? Just for taxing purposes, you understand. Three, _are you having boy troubles_? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Bucky winces again.

“Becca, back off, you’re coming over tomorrow, it’s eleven and I gotta work tomorrow. You do, too. And… I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay? It’s complicated, and I can’t tell you everything, and you gotta respect that, alright? It’s not just my thing to tell.”

Oh, Bucky,” Becca scoffs, and Bucky scowls. “You know you will tell me everything. You always do when we bake.”

“Then we’ll cook,” Bucky tries, but Becca laughs at him.

“We will bake,” she tells him, and hangs up.

“Ugh,” Bucky groans, and looks at the ceiling. He _will_ tell her everything, won’t he?

No, he won’t. He will be strong.

\--

Thursday night, Becca comes over.

Bucky spends an hour after coming home from work tidying the flat up. Not that he cares what Becca thinks of it, they’ve seen each other’s childhood bedrooms, but because he has to do something if he doesn’t want to vibrate out of his skin.

In the end, the buzzer saves the books from a dusting.

“Hey,” Bucky smiles at her, leaning out his door, when she steps off the elevator.

“Hey, Buckaroo!” she beams back at him, practically skipping down the corridor. “Come on, show me, I wanna see!”

“You don’t have to be that invested in my life,” Bucky laughs, but lets her through.

“I don’t have to, I choose to,” she corrects him. “Okay, give me five, I’ll snoop through your shit, then we can bake.”

Bucky shakes his head fondly after her. She’s off like a rocket, sprint-snooping through the flat, and Bucky knows that she will be back in exactly five minutes.

Until then, Bucky goes into the kitchen and gets everything out of the fridge. He makes sure everything is in its proper place, to make using the small kitchen easier, then waits.

At exactly the five minute mark, Becca appears.

“Your life is boring,” she tells Bucky.

“You’re boring,” Bucky replies. “Come on, we’re making brownies.”

“Ooh, nice, is that what you burnt?” Becca asks as she leans over and displaces at least three things.

“Hey, stop that!” Bucky grabs her hands. “There’s a system, don’t mess it up.”

“Oh, sorry, forgot,” Becca says, and tries to put everything back.

“Oh, just let me,” Bucky sighs.

“Well, your loss,” Becca shrugs and leans against the counter. “So why did you burn the brownies?”

“I got distracted,” Bucky tells her as he finishes putting everything back. “Okay, grab the recipe for me, what’s the first step?”

“Bucky, you know it by heart,” she sighs, but obediently reaches over for the old cookbook. “Why do you insist on making it from here?”

“That’s how Grandma did it, you know that,” Bucky says. “What’s the first step?”

“Yeah, but you know her recipe by heart,” Becca shakes her head. “Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. What distracted you?”

“Already done that,” Bucky waves. “Life.”

“Okay that’s not an answer,” Becca squints at him. “Have you buttered the tray?”

“I did, and it is, I just gave it.”

“No, it isn’t, it’s too vague. Define it closer. And cream the butter and sugar together.”

Bucky picks up the soft butter and the sugar and dumps them into the big bowl in front of him, then uses the sound of the electric whisk to think.

“Okay, I had to help a friend,” he announces when he turns the whisk off.

“Okay, that’s acceptable,” Becca nods. “And the eggs and the vanilla. So is this the friend-the friend?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs as he cracks the eggs, then holds out the shells for Becca. “Can you throw these out for me?”

“Sure,” Becca takes them and dumps them in the trash. “So who’s this guy?”

“I’m not gonna tell you his name,” Bucky shakes his head as he carefully measures out the vanilla extract.

“Okay, so I know him,” Becca nods.

“You don’t,” Bucky turns to glare at her. “And you never will.”

“Okay, so he lives in the building,” Becca nods again, and Bucky gives up. “Ooh, he does, you’re making the face! Is he in the apartment across?”

“If I say yes, will you ring on his door?” Bucky asks, resigned. He picks up the whisk and pours his frustration into making the batter as smooth as possible. “You can’t tell him, okay? He has a girlfriend. It would just make it weird.”

“Oh,” Becca says. “That sucks, Bucky Bear. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugs, and takes the whisk out. “Next step?”

“Mix the cocoa powder, flour and salt,” Becca recites. “Let me.”

“Thanks,” Bucky steps to the sides, hopping on the counter as she takes his place. “You know, it’s not supposed to get flour in it, yet it does every time.”

“Have you told Stark?” Becca asks as she measures the flour.

“Yeah, and he said it physically couldn’t,” Bucky shrugs. “I wore gloves last time and held the whisk in my right hand, that kept most of it out. I probably wouldn’t have noticed the rest if I hadn’t checked it, and I managed to get it out before Stark saw it.”

“Ooh, you had a check-up? I thought the next one wasn’t until next month,” Becca says, oh so casually, as she mixes the ingredients in the bowl, that Bucky would almost believe it, had he not grown up with her. “Did something happen to it?

_Oh, hell._

“I slipped and had to grab the railing,” he shrugs, equally casually. Sadly, she also grew up with him.

“You must have slipped really hard,” she side-eyes him, pouring the first bit of dry mix into the big bowl. “Here, hold the bowl for me, would you?”

“I slipped hard,” Bucky looks into her eyes as he takes hold of the bowl. “The floor was slippery.”

“Oh, yes?” Becca asks, pouring and mixing at the same time. “Why was it slippery?”

“Because it was just cleaned, come on, Becs. You can do better than that.”

“Do you want me to?” Becca smirks at him.

“I really, really don’t want you to,” Bucky tells her. “However, I don’t harbor a single thought that you would let that stop you.”

“Maybe I’ll go easy on you,” she puts down the smaller bowl. “As a consolation prize for your lover boy.”

“Okay, one, he’s not my lover boy,” Bucky takes the whisk thrust at him and begins whisking with his right arm. “I highly doubt he’s Natasha’s lover boy, he does not look like a lover boy. Second, ouch.”

“Ooh, poor Buckaroo,” Becca coos at him, and Bucky swats her away. “So what does mystery boy look like?”

“Do I have to? You’ll find him on social media in a day.”

“Well, it’s either that or I ask you how you slipped hard enough to damage your arm,” she looks at him angelically, and Bucky closes his eyes.

“Okay, so to be clear, if I tell you how he looks, you will leave my slipping alone,” Bucky points at her with the whisk.

“Correct,” she nods. “Also, you just yeeted some batter at the floor.”

“Oh, shit,” Bucky looks down. “Poor batter, it deserved better. Could you clean it up?”

“As long as you’re telling me tales,” Becca pats him on the cheek, and gets some paper towels. “Well?”

“Okay, so, he’s like a head taller than me, maybe a bit less, blond, blue eyes, arms for days, Becs, arms for days. He dresses like shit, he owns the building, he has a dog. And a gorgeous girlfriend. Did I tell you about the girlfriend?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me she was gorgeous,” Becca says as she stands up. “Now I’m definitely more interested.”

“Hey!” Bucky glares at her. “Don’t steal the girlfriend of my landlord.”

“Why? You’d have a shot at him,” Becca shrugs.

Bucky gapes at her, then shakes his head.

“Just no,” he tells her sternly, for some reason feeling like Clint the day before, telling Lucky to stay inside. He’d be probably just as successful, too. Good luck Natasha doesn’t often visit Clint, otherwise it’d be over.

“We’ll see,” Becca winks at him, and he shakes his head again. “Okay, I think that batter is sufficiently dead. Pour it into the tray and into the oven it goes. I wanna eat brownies.”

“Hey, I only called you over to make brownies, not to eat them,” Bucky smirks at her as he pours the batter into the tray.

Becca scoffs. “You might have invited me over to make brownies, but good luck keeping me from eating them.”

“Yeah, you think you can take me?” Bucky raises his eyebrows as he pushes the tray into the oven. “How did that go for you last time you tried, again?”

“That was almost a decade ago,” Becca waves. “I can take you, big brother.”

“Yeah?” Bucky smirks at her again, then suddenly lunges.

Becca shrieks and tries to back away, but the counter is behind her.

“You can take me?” Bucky’s smirk grows as he catches her wrists in his hand.

“I can always knee you in the balls,” she quirks an eyebrow back at him, and he releases her, laughing.

“Okay, fine, you win,” he tells her, taking a step back. “This ti-” he trails off.

“What, Bucky?” Becca frowns at him, then follows his stare.

In the doorway, Clint is standing, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“Not a good time, huh,” he grins forcedly as Becca stops to stare, too. “Sorry, the door was unlocked. I’ll just go.”

“Hey, Clint, what-” Bucky reaches after him, but he’s gone. “What the hell?” he turns to Becca, frowning.

“Was this lover boy?” she asks, eyes wide. “Please tell me this was lover boy.”

“We agreed he’s not lover boy,” Bucky avoids the question.

“One, you agreed he’s not lover boy, I didn’t. Two, lover boy just got a name. Clint fits him, I think,” she muses.

“Stop!” Bucky glares at her. “Do you have to rub it in? Yes, Clint is him, no, Clint has a girlfriend. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Well, I don’t know about a girlfriend, but if someone looked at me like he did at you, I’d strongly consider marrying them,” she shrugs.

“Becca, just drop it,” Bucky sighs. “Remember when I didn’t tell mom about Johnny? I’m invoking that.”

“Okay, fine, your loss,” Becca shrugs again. “Have you set a timer?”

“Shit!”


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky doesn’t burn the brownies. However, he doesn’t eat a lot, either.

On Friday, he takes in the leftover brownies to SI. For some reason he hadn’t had much on an appetite, ever since Clint barged in and then disappeared.

_And no, Becca, he’s not heartsick. No one is heartsick outside of Victorian romance novels._

He’s not pining, either.

The SI employees at least appreciate the offering, in fact, he’s almost sure Jones wouldn’t stab him, and Ms. Potts actually told him to call her Pepper. What’s even more impressive, though, is that Stark left the lab when he heard Bucky brought in brownies, and he didn’t look like he regretted it after he tried it, either.

To be fair, Bucky is still not sure how to feel about that. The office has been in agreement that the only things that bring Stark out from the lab are explodable things somewhere else, unholy amounts of coffee and Ms. P- Pepper, so adding his brownies certainly makes them feel dangerous.

The day goes relatively quickly, at least, and he’s almost home when an unknown number calls him.

He frowns at the screen but answers. “Hello.”

“Bucky?” a familiar voice comes, breathless. “Please tell me I got the right number.”

“Clint?” Bucky frowns. “How did you get my number?”

“Not important,” Clint grunts, and Bucky picks up the distinct sounds of flesh hitting flesh. “Hey, how far away are you from home?”

“Clint?” Bucky picks up pace. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“Well, if you get here in time I will be,” Clint says and hangs up, and Bucky curses.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters and breaks into a run.

He rounds the last corner to the sounds of fighting. Indeed, Clint is surrounded again by five guys, though he’s holding his own.

“Hey, asshole,” Bucky calls out as he grabs the back of the shirt of tracksuit #1. “Did you _have to_ hang up?” he throws the tracksuit behind him and goes for the next. “I would have appreciated some sitrep, you know.”

“You made it!” Clint turns to him, then immediately ducks and hits a tracksuit in the stomach. “I wasn’t sure you’d come!”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Bucky grunts, blocking a hit and retaliating with one of his own. “You didn’t answer when I asked how you got my number, though. I distinctly remember forgetting to give it to you.”

“Well, I tried to ask you last night, but you were busy,” Clint headbutts tracksuit #3. “So I got it. By the way, Natasha is now extremely interested in you, if you feel like running.”

“One, that doesn’t answer my question,” Bucky throws tracksuit #2 on the ground and steps on his nose for good measure. “Two, why is your girlfriend interested in me?” he asks, baffled.

“Wait, my girlfriend?” Clint turns to him, staring. Then tracksuit #4 hits him in the head from behind. “Ow!”

“Clint!” Bucky forgets everything else and he rushes over to Clint to grab the tracksuit by his hair. The tracksuit tries to evade him, but Clint socks him in the head, and it goes quiet.

They stand and breathe for a moment, but then Clint frowns.

“Wait, where’s the fifth?” he looks around.

“You’re looking for him, Clint?” a female voice asks, and they both spin around. A few feet away Natasha is holding tracksuit #5 by his pinky, his face screwed up in terrible pain.

“Nat,” Clint breathes, and Bucky looks over to him. His face is surprised, but it slowly transforms into a grimace. “Okay, so this looks bad, but it’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s not you two fighting off a wannabe mafia because you didn’t think to call me?” she raises her eyebrows, and, _damn_ , it’s even more powerful than Becca’s. Bucky is just glad it’s not aimed at him.

“Okay, so I didn’t know they were a mafia,” Clint starts, but even Bucky can’t believe him, and he’s not his girlfriend.

“What’s going on, little bird?” Natasha pushes the tracksuit to the side, who scampers away.

Clint shrugs, but he doesn’t look Natasha in the eye, and Bucky can’t understand how he succeeds as a super-duper secret agent.

“I dunno,” Clint mutters. “They just jumped us, right, Buck?”

Bucky scowls at being dragged into it, but Natasha doesn’t even look his way. Instead, she grabs Clint’s face and turns it into the light.

“That bruise is at least a few days old,” she says accusingly.

“No it’s not,” Clint pulls his head out of her grasp. Bucky could swear he’s not even trying anymore, though.

“Clint,” she gets a look on her face, and Bucky decides he’s had enough.

He turns to walk away, but he just moved when Clint’s hand shoots out and grabs his arm.

Bucky stares down incredulously, but neither Clint nor Natasha look at him.

“There’s nothing for you to see here, Nat,” Clint says mulishly, and Natasha raises her eyebrows.

“The way you’re acting is saying the exact opposite, _paren_ ,” she says, and her steely expression doesn’t match the gentleness in her voice. “Come on, you know you can’t lie to me.”

Clint sighs, and Bucky looks down at his hand on his arm again. He tries to pull away, but doesn’t budge.

“Come on, Nat,” Clint looks at her imploringly, but she just stays impassive, and after a few seconds Clint sighs again.

“Okay, fine, so they’re a wannabe mafia, but don’t get mad,” he raises his hand not currently occupied by keeping Bucky hostage.

Natasha’s eyebrows narrow slightly, and Clint flails. “Hey, I said don’t get mad! I won’t tell you if you get mad!”

“You will tell me either way, _paren_ ,” she says. “But as a tribute to our friendship, you get to tell it to me the easy way.”

“Oh, come on,” Clint mutters, then sighs for the third time in a row as he rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, so you know how I bought a building? They were using it for money laundering and now want it back,” he rushes out. “But we’re handling it! Aren’t we, Bucky?”

Bucky scowls again and tries to yank his arm away, but Clint’s grip is iron. (And no, Bucky is not impressed, and no, _he doesn’t wonder how it would feel on other parts of him_. Clint has his girlfriend right there. Get a grip, Bucky. _No, not there! Jesus._ )

Thankfully, though, Natasha doesn’t glance his way this time, either. Instead, her eyebrows go up into what Bucky is sure is dangerous territory.

“You bought a building?” she asks, incredulous.

“Oops?” Clint winces. “You were busy, in Belarus, I think? I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Belarus was a month ago, Clint.”

“Yeah, well,” Clint shrugs, but it seems to have been the wrong move.

Natasha curses in Russian, long and hard, and Clint’s face goes pale.

“Nat…” Clint starts, letting go of Bucky’s arm to reach for her with both, and Bucky doesn’t wait around to hear the rest.

He will deny it to his dying day, but he hightails it into the building and doesn’t look back.

\--

Bucky had just made it into the building when the shouting started outside, but he didn’t stop and certainly didn’t turn back. If there is one thing his childhood as the older sibling taught him, it’s that he should count his blessings when he wasn’t the one being shouted at, and don’t risk that position. So instead, he went up into his apartment, treated his small cuts and turned on the Cartoon Network because Scooby Doo.

He’s also very proud that he didn’t stand up to intervene when he heard Clint and Natasha storm into Clint’s apartment, although he’s glad two doors are enough to muffle the sounds, because he’s not sure he’d have enough self-control otherwise.

Because as much as he learnt to stay the hell out of someone else’s scolding, well.

It’s Clint. And it seems like he has developed a Pavlovian response to help if Clint is in danger.

And he also can’t quite get Clint’s reaction out of his mind when Bucky called Natasha his girlfriend. He tries to tell himself valiantly that it was nothing, that Clint was surprised about something else… But he also knows that there isn’t much room for error here. Clint was surprised that Bucky called Natasha his girlfriend.

The only question left is, why?

Bucky knows what Becca would say, so he doesn’t bother calling her. She doesn’t know Clint or Natasha and hadn’t been there today, so it doesn’t much matter what she’d say.

Bucky can’t get it out of his head, though.

Finally, around nine, he hears Natasha leaving. Or, well, he hears Clint’s door open and close, and high heels walking away, but he doubts Clint put on heels. Although…

_Bad Bucky._

So Natasha is gone.

Bucky could go over.

Should Bucky go over?

Bucky tips his head back on the couch and sighs. He is gonna go over, no matter what he should or shouldn’t do, he is self-aware enough to know that. He won’t be able to sleep until he knows why Clint was surprised, so he might as well ask while it’s a decent-enough hour.

Once the decision is made, he doesn’t wait around. Instead he shuts the TV off (poor Shaggy will have to be rescued later) and grabs his keys.

Bucky checks to make sure Natasha is gone from the corridor before he darts across it to knock on Clint’s door. Instantly, barking erupts from within the apartment, and Bucky can’t help but smile. He also widens his stance, though.

Within moments, Clint throws open his door with a scowl, throwing his leg into the gap to keep Lucky back.

“I told you, Nat, I don’t nee-” he trails off, and Bucky is delighted to find that he blushes. “You’re not Nat,” Clint tells him, and Bucky fights to keep his smile back.

“No, I am not,” he agrees. “Is that okay?”

Clint stares at him a bit more, and Bucky feels his urge to smile fade.

“Clint?” he frowns lightly, and Clint snaps to attention.

“Oh! Yeah, sure, come in,” he moves to the side, and Lucky pounces. “Lucky, no!”

This time, though, Bucky was ready, and he flows with the motion, taking Lucky’s momentum and turning with it, so that he arrives on his knees with Lucky leaning on his shoulders.

“Hey, boy,” he laughs and leans back to avoid tongue in his eyes. “Were you good for Clint? Were you?”

“He’s always a good boy,” Clint tells him, indignant, and Bucky grins up at him.

“Even when he’s stealing your slice of pizza?”

Clint blinks for a moment, then shrugs.

“Sure, he’s a good boy. He’s just doing something bad.”

“Okay, then,” Bucky laughs, and scritches Lucky’s ear. In return he gets a sloppy kiss, and he’s had enough.

“Your dog is ew,” he tells Clint. “I will not scratch you if you lick,” he turns to Lucky seriously, and he hears Clint laugh.

“You know that’s not how dogs work, right?”

“Well, they better be if they want my scratches,” Bucky tells him mulishly, and Clint laughs again.

Honestly, Bucky would be offended he’s being laughed at, but Clint looks so damn cute with those laugh wrinkles around his eyes. He has a feeling Clint doesn’t laugh enough.

“Okay, you coming in?” Clint asks him, still chuckling, and Bucky stands up.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods.

Inside, it’s awkward for half a second, before Clint nods at the couch.

“So, what did you want?” he asks when they’re settled in, Lucky between them, wiggling happily.

Bucky feels his chest freeze in panic for a second, and he huffs, hard. He’s already come this far, what’s the point in avoiding it? If he’s gonna be hurt, he might as well be hurt now and avoid the uncertainty.

“Why were you surprised when I called Natasha your girlfriend?” he looks Clint in the eye.

Clint looks at him, surprised.

“Is that really what you wanted to talk about? I mean, she’s not my girlfriend, why wouldn’t I be surprised?”

Bucky opens his mouth, then closes it. He opens it again.

“She isn’t?” he asks, hope warring with pessimism in his chest.

“No?” Clint frowns at him, then his face clears. “Wait, did you think she was?”

“Yeah?” Bucky shrugs. “I mean, she was in your apartment without you home. What was I supposed to think?”

Clint blinks at him, then he moves his head to the side and back.

“Yeah, okay, that’s logical,” he concedes. “She’s not, though. Is that why you backed off?”

Suddenly Bucky feels his heart hammer in his throat again.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, then stops and clears his throat. “Yeah,” he repeats, clearer. “I wasn’t gonna try an’ get you to cheat.”

“Aw,” Clint smirks. “That’s sweet. Completely unnecessary, but sweet.”

Bucky scowls at him.

“I wasn’t the only one who kept backing off,” he challenges Clint. “Why did you run when we got flirty, then?”

Clint shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck, awkward.

“Well, I can’t exactly tell you what I do. Also, you’ve seen how much of a trainwreck I am. You don’t deserve to be saddled with me. Nat threatened me if I didn’t ask you out though, so I was gonna! Only there was that woman in your flat, so you know.”

“Ew!” Bucky’s face wrinkles without his approval. “That’s my sister! Did you honestly think I was, what? Dating her?”

“Hey, you did the same!” Clint says, indignant. “You don’t get to judge!”

Bucky shakes his head, but he can’t keep his growing smile inside. His heart feels ten pounds lighter, and he’d even be willing to admit to Becca that she was right.

“Okay, so we both jumped to conclusions. Let me decide what I deserve and what I don’t, though, idiot,” Bucky tells Clint, then grabs the front of his battered t-shirt.

“What-” Clint starts to ask, but Bucky is yanking him across Lucky.

“Shut up,” he growls, and kisses Clint.

Clint makes a surprised sound and Bucky holds back, afraid he misread the situation entirely. But then Clint melts into the kiss, his hands coming up to flutter a bit around Bucky. In the end, one hand grabs Bucky’s back, lifting him a bit, and the other sinks into his hair. Bucky’s left hand is stuck between their bodies, but he flattens it against Clint’s pecks instead of grabbing the t-shirt, so he can’t exactly mind. He keeps his left hand by his side, but then Clint reaches down and grabs it, and Bucky turns it into Clint’s hand.

Bucky tries to stay slow, wanting to savor the kiss and not scare Clint again, but soon Clint’s having none of it. His tongue sweeps insistently at Bucky’s lips and with a low groan Bucky parts them. Clint sweeps inside immediately, taking control, but Bucky’s having none of that. Their tongues tangle in a fight for dominance, flicking into and out of their mouths, all the while their hands stay tangled.

If someone asked Bucky how long they spent like that, he would swear on both a second and hours, but after some time they have to come up for air. Clint lays his forehead against Bucky’s and they stay there, panting.

After an indeterminate amount of time Clint quickly pecks Bucky on the lips again.

“So, does that mean you’re fine with my trainwreck?” he smirks.

“Don’t take it too far,” Bucky warns him, but he can’t stop smiling like a loon, so he doesn’t think it’s very effective. “Hey, your dog let us kiss.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to that.”

\--

On Saturday, Clint took Bucky for a coffee (“because coffee is always good, Bucky”).

On Sunday, Bucky made dinner for Clint (“because dinner is always good, Clint”).

On Monday, Bucky messed up three calls because he was messaging with Clint.

On Tuesday, Clint had a run-in with the tracksuits while Bucky’s phone was turned off in therapy (thankfully arrows are always good).

On Wednesday, Bucky was finally distracted enough for Pepper to notice (a day that will live in infamy). He set a date with Clint for Saturday, though.

On Thursday, Clint left on a three-day mission, but Bucky was a big boy and handled it well (he didn’t, he cried in the shower).

On Friday, Clint made it home (classified).

Today… today Bucky is walking in the clouds.

Bucky is also a nervous wreck.

“Becca, help,” he whines into the phone. “ _What do I wear?_ ”

“Buckaroo, chill,” Becca sighs. “Clint likes you, okay? The shade of your shirt won’t change that.”

“Becca, you don’t get it,” Bucky argues. “Shirts are out. Clubbing clothes are out, not that they would still fit me. Pajamas and sweatpants are a no-go, and I’m not gonna wear my uniform. So I repeat, _what do I wear?_ ”

“… tell me where you’re going again?”

“The dog park, Becca. Come on, keep up. We’re gonna take Lucky and play fetch.”

“Just wear your jeans, what’s the problem?”

“Which one, Becs, I have,” Bucky holds the phone and takes a picture, “six. I sent you the pic.”

“Okay, wait a moment,” Becca sighs again, and Bucky would honestly feel bad if not for Junior High.

Instead, he eyes the jeans on his bed. Top left is very clearly not it, it has holes and not the sexy kinds, and bottom right is dirty, so not that either. The other four are possible contestants, though.

“Okay, I hope you didn’t consider the bottom right and top left ones seriously,” Becca’s voice comes back. “What about top middle?”

“I wish,” Bucky sighs. “That makes the best ass. It’s too tight, though, it’d crush my nuts if I had to bend down too much. And, you know, dog park.”

“Eww, I did not want to know that, man,” Becca complains. “Keep the deets to yourself, I’m your sister. What about top right?”

“That’s possible,” Bucky nods, even though Becca can’t see. “I can’t wear the red shirt with it, though, and that’s the best for my arms.”

“You could wear the blue tight one with it,” Becca suggests. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Hmm,” Bucky squints. “Maybe. But bottom middle can go with the red shirt.”

“Isn’t that a bit too tight for playing fetch?” Becca asks. “You don’t want to cut off your circulation, I’ve seen that shirt.”

“But it looks nice,” Bucky looks forlornly into his closet. “I miss wearing it.”

Becca snorts.

“Be practical, Bucky-boo, you’ll hate yourself if you rip it. Go with the blue one.”

Bucky blinks.

“That is true,” he considers. “It’d be tragic.”

“So pick top right with the blue shirt. I gotta go, my break is over.”

“Okay, love ya,” Bucky sends kissy noises. “Go kick those patients’ ass.”

“I think that goes against the Hippocratic oath,” Becca laughs. “Okay, bye, good luck at the dog park! And don’t forget to ask Clint!”

“Bye, Becs,” Bucky says distractedly. Okay, so, top right with tight blue shirt. He can do that.

\--

Clint is waiting for him in the hallway with Lucky when Bucky finally deems himself ready.

“Bucky!” Clint exclaims, a smile splitting his face.

Bucky feels his face do that sappy smiling thing, but he’s powerless to stop it.

“Hey, Clint, hey Lucky,” he gives his boyfriend ( _boyfriend!_ ) a peck on the cheek, then bends down for some obligatory scratches. “You’re a good boy,” he tells Lucky. “See? No licking and you get the scratches.”

“I can’t believe my dog listens to you more than me,” Clint pouts.

“You do everything he wants you to, regardless of how he behaves,” Bucky points out. “That doesn’t help with training.”

“Shut up,” Clint mutters. “Let’s go, come on! The dog park is waiting!”

“Okay, fine,” Bucky laughs. “Lead the way.”

The walk to the park should be short, but Lucky stops to sniff at everything. Bucky doesn’t mind, though, because that just makes for easier handholding.

The dog park is relatively empty, and Bucky is glad for it. The more Clint he gets all to himself.

“Good boy,” Clint says as he unclips Lucky’s leash, and Bucky knows he’s got a sappy look on his face again. “Hey, you wanna throw first?”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs, and accepts the ball from Clint. Lucky’s eyes and ears are trained on him, and Bucky waits a moment or two before throwing, just to enjoy the cute.

Finally, he throws the ball, and Lucky bounces after it.

“He’ll be a little while,” Clint smiles and pulls Bucky down on a bench. “Come on, I need my cuddles.”

Bucky snorts. “Well, who am I to deprive you of them,” he says, pulling Clint close. “This good?”

“Perfect,” Clint snuggles in. How he can make himself smaller than Bucky, Bucky will never understand, but he will also never complain. A snuggly Clint is an adorable Clint.

“I’m glad you were able to come home early,” Bucky confesses quietly. “I know it’s your job and I knew that going in, but I’m glad we didn’t have to reschedule.”

Clint looks up at him, and Bucky’s heart hurts a bit at the look of awe and surprise on his face.

“Most people hate it,” Clint tells him in a subdued voice.

“You forget, I know how missions go,” Bucky smiles at him softly. “And I like the whole of you, agent included. I like that you can hold your own next to me. I like that I’ll get to go shooting with you. That wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t an agent. It’d be hypocritical of me if I begrudged the parts that are inconvenient for me.”

Clint blushes around the first mention of the word ‘like’, and it only escalates to Bucky’s pleasure.

“I’m not that good with words,” Clint mumbles.

Bucky shrugs.

“As long as you act it, I don’t need words. I have you.”

Clint blushes even harder.

“Shut up, you sap,” he hits Bucky on his chest. “Come on, let’s find Lucky before he annoys a squirrel into killing him.”

“Okay,” Bucky laughs.

He doesn’t ask. He has time, right?

\--

Turns out, Bucky’s metal arm is really useful for playing fetch.

They stayed at the park until it became too dark to see. After a few throws, Bucky gave back the ball to Clint – this way, he could watch Clint’s arm flex.

Clint gave up after an hour and a half, though, and Bucky took over dog duty. He would have kept throwing, too, if Lucky hadn’t given up.

They walk back to the building hand in hand, Lucky subdued at Clint’s side, and Bucky doesn’t think he could be any happier. Based on Clint’s face, it can’t be very different for him, either.

“I really enjoyed this,” Clint says as they reach the front door.

“Me too,” Bucky glances over. “I’m really glad Natasha isn’t your girlfriend.”

Clint snorts.

“Me too, dude,” he turns to Bucky as he opens the door and walks through backwards. “Although not just because of you. Could you imagine how scary she’d be? She already commands my life.”

Bucky doesn’t have much to say to that, so he shrugs.

They ride up the elevator in silence. Bucky feels himself getting more and more tense, but the thing is, he doesn’t know how to ask.

They’ve only been dating for a week; a black-tie event is a bit serious at that point. On the other hand, though, he’s not sure how he’d survive a room packed with strangers, who all want to thank him for his service, without Clint. Steve will be there, that’s good, but Bucky’s never felt as calm as when he’s with Clint.

“Bucky?” Clint asks him hesitantly, and Bucky startles. He immediately blushes, because the elevator doors are open, and he’s been standing there, staring into space, like an idiot.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and eases past Clint and Lucky.

“Hey, man, you alright?” Clint asks, voice worried. “Hey, if you’re having second thoughts…”

“Wait, no!” Bucky cuts in, his head snapping up. “No, I don’t… it’s not that, okay? I just…” he sighs in frustration, then thinks, _fuck it_. “Okay, so I’m gonna ask something, and you don’t have to say yes, but I’m just gonna ask it, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Clint steps closer to him, reaching out hesitantly. The moment his hand touches Bucky’s arm, though, Bucky feels the tension drain out of him.

“So you know the prosthetics project at SI? The project launch is on Wednesday, and since I was the test subject, and I helped in it as Pepper’s PA, I was invited. Wouldyoucomewithme?”

Clint blinks at him.

“Wait, that’s what got you so tense? Sure, yeah, why not,” he shrugs. “Unless I have a mission, but I’ll tell Coulson not to assign me any for Wednesday.”

“Thank you,” Bucky beams.

“Anytime,” Clint grins at him, and leans down to kiss him.

\--

The night of the launch Bucky is as nervous as he thought he’d be. Pepper sent him home after lunch break to let him get ready, but that only gave Bucky time to overthink everything.

At least he doesn’t have to figure out what to wear because Pepper sent him a suit “appropriate for the occasion”. On the other hand, Becca has a shift and can’t come over to distract him.

He gets ready way too early, but he doesn’t want to change out of the suit and into it again. He considers knocking on Clint’s door to see if he wants to pass the time, but, well. He doesn’t want to seem pushy.

Clint is already coming to a black-tie event with him, even though Bucky would be very surprised if Clint were the kind of guy who’s comfortable at them.

At long last, five thirty comes along, and Bucky goes over to knock on Clint’s door.

He’s not sure what he expects to see, but definitely not _that_.

“Hnng,” he says.

“Hey!” Clint greets him, holding the door with one hand, and Bucky may have swallowed his tongue.

He for sure hasn’t seen anyone look that good in a suit, and he’s seen Tony Stark. Clint’s arms bulge in it, especially the one holding the door, and Bucky would be afraid for the seams if he _hadn’t swallowed his tongue_. And that doesn’t even mention Clint’s _chest_ , for all that is holy.

“Hnng,” Bucky repeats. His eyes are stuck on Clint’s chest, and they probably would’ve stayed there if not for Clint choking.

“Clint?” Bucky’s head snaps up. “You’re alrig-” he trails off because Clint’s pupils are so dilated the color is almost gone, and he’s staring at Bucky’s thighs transfixed. Okay, then.

Just at that moment Bucky sees a flash of red from behind Clint, but before he can do anything, Natasha slaps Clint on the back of his head. “Snap out of it, paren,” she tells him, totally ignoring Bucky.

“Ouch!” Clint turns back to look at her, and Bucky feels a bit guilty for how funny he finds Clint’s affronted expression.

“Go, leave, don’t be stupid,” Natasha tells Clint sternly, and he huffs.

“Come on, Nat,” he pouts. “I won’t be stupid.”

“Sure you won’t,” she nods, but Bucky gets a feeling she’s laughing. “Go on, the both of you. And don’t mess up my work!” she raises her voice, eyes flashing to both of them, as she closes the door behind Clint.

They stare at each other in silence.

“What,” Bucky says in the end.

Clint snorts. “That’s Natasha for you,” he says, shaking his head. “Come on, we should go before she decides we need some nudging.”

Bucky laughs, but he stops at Clint’s look.

“Wait, what would she do?”

“You don’t want to know,” Clint tells him, darkly, then he brightens. “Come on! Are we gonna ride in a limo? It’s been a while since I last did that!”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky laughs as he follows Clint down the hallway. “But Stark said he’d send a car for us.”

“Meh, at least no cabs,” Clint shrugs as he jabs the button for the elevator. “You look amazing, just so you know.”

Bucky blushes, feeling the red spread on his face. He refuses to be embarrassed by that (Becca isn’t here, after all). Instead, he smiles at Clint, trying to channel all the “hnng” he felt.

“You too,” he tells him, and has the pleasure of seeing Clint blush, too.

“Natasha helped me,” Clint shrugs it off, and steps into the elevator. Bucky is not going to let him do that, though.

“She didn’t make you _you_ , though,” he comments idly as the elevator starts. “She got you the suit, I suppose?”

“Yeah,” Clint squints at him, clearly suspicious.

“Well, you look good in everything,” Bucky looks him in the eye. “The suit just emphasizes that.”

Clint blushes a deep crimson and looks away.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and Bucky chuckles.

“Just telling you the truth, doll,” he shrugs and steps off the elevator. He takes pity on Clint, though, and adds to lighten the mood, “I’ll have to thank Natasha, though. She did an excellent job.”

Clint snorts, finally looking back at Bucky, as they walk out of the building.

“Whoever made you dress like that, I owe them a thanks, too,” he says, looking over Bucky appreciatively.

Bucky blushes again – or maybe he never stopped? – but he smirks at Clint.

“Pepper sent the suit, so you’re gonna have to thank her,” he says. “Come on, here’s the car.”

There’s a black car waiting at the curb just in front of the front door, probably somewhat illegally, with a driver Bucky recognizes from the driver pool at SI.

“Hi May,” Bucky greets the driver as he opens the door to get in, and she nods at him. He moves to slide in, but Clint interrupts him.

“Wait, _the_ Pepper? As in, Pepper Potts?” Clint looks at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t tell me she’d be there! Wait, will Tony be there, too?”

“Tony?” Bucky frowns for a moment, before it clears. “Ah, you mean Stark? Sure, it’s his project launch, and for a change he even wanted to come. Pepper was relieved she didn’t have to fight him to make him come. And actually, I told you I was invited as her PA, didn’t you think she’d be there?”

“I didn’t think!” Clint exclaims. “I was distracted by the thought of you in a suit!”

“We gotta go, boys,” May cuts in, looking at them disapprovingly.

Bucky looks at her, then at Clint, who’s looking increasingly stressed. Well, May is more likely to kill him at the moment.

“Okay, fine,” he decides. “Come on, Clint, panic in the car.”

Clint looks at him with wide eyes, but he moves when Bucky motions at him. Bucky finally slides into the car, Clint right behind him, and May pulls into the traffic the moment Clint pulls the door closed.

“Okay, so what’s wrong?” Bucky turns to Clint.

Clint looks down at his lap, his hands starting to twist at his suit pants. Bucky cringes at that, but he doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t known Clint for long, but he knows he gotta wait him out. And indeed, after a minute or so, Clint finally looks up.

“So I was gonna offer that you choose who you want me to be, but that’s not gonna happen if Tony’s gonna be there,” he says apologetically, and Bucky frowns.

“What do you mean, who I want you to be?”

“Well, you know,” Clint shrugs. “Who am I for the event? I was guessing boyfriend because it would be weird otherwise, but other than that, whoever you want. It’s not gonna work, though, Tony knows who I really am.”

Wait…

“Clint, did you think you have to play a cover?”

“Erm… yes?” Clint looks at him confused. “You asked me because you didn’t want to come alone, right? So I can be there to support you however you need. So I just need you to tell me who you need me to be.”

Bucky has to close his eyes for a moment. Has he truly miscommunicated so badly? But he just asked Clint, didn’t he?

“Clint,” he says gently, reaching over to cup Clint’s cheek. “I just want you to be there, okay? The real you. The one I’m dating. No cover stories or anything, just you. The way I like your body because it’s yours? I like the whole of you because it’s you.”

Clint stares at him, mouth open, and Bucky’s heart wrenches for him. How bad were his relationships, romantic or not, to be this surprised that Bucky just wants _him_?

“Okay,” Clint says quietly, and nods once.

“Good,” Bucky smiles softly. “Can I kiss you?”

Clint’s face lights up again, and in response he leans over and presses his mouth gently to Bucky’s.

Before things could escalate, though, May clears her throat.

“We’re here,” she announces, and Bucky breaks the kiss.

“Let’s face the music, then, shall we?” he asks Clint.

“If we must,” Clint flashes a quick grin. “Thank you,” he tells May as a valet pulls open his door, and Bucky echoes it.

They step out onto the red carpet, Clint first, and then Bucky. Pepper has warned him about the flashes, so he’s relatively well prepared, but he still freezes for a second.

“Hey, you okay?” Clint whispers in his ear, putting his arm around Bucky. The warmth seeping into Bucky grounds him, and he closes his eyes to concentrate on that.

“Yeah,” he finally looks into Clint’s worried face, and smiles. “Let’s go.”

\--

Inside, the place is already packed. The walls are covered in beautiful deep blue curtains with low-hanging lights bathing everything in a soft light, and posters of Steve’s art stand at prominent places. The stage is on the other side of the room, and the floor in front of it is filled with throngs of people – mostly in formal wear, but not necessarily. Bucky sees at least a dozen people in jeans or T-shirts at first glance, and even those in formal wear aren’t wearing tuxedos. Flashes of white uniforms show the waiters circling with food and non-alcoholic drinks, and to the side is the bar.

“You didn’t tell me there were gonna be so many people,” Clint says even as he takes Bucky’s hand.

Bucky shakes his head.

“This is the public event. Stark wanted to open it to anyone for free, we’re going to the VIP section. Come on,” he nods at the wall to the right. “The door is behind the curtains.”

“Lead the way,” Clint smiles at him and leans down to kiss the top of Bucky’s head.

Bucky ducks his head and turns away to hide his blush, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed.

They skirt the edges of the crowd to get to the point where Bucky knows the door is. It really is ingenious, hiding the door practically in plain sight, but people who aren’t supposed to be there won’t find it.

Just as they get to the door, the curtains part, and Bucky has to jump to the side as a security guard barges out. On her shoulder is a brown-haired girl, her arms reaching back towards the other side of the curtain.

“Your work on miniaturizing a particle accelerator is unparalleled!” she shouts, and Bucky blinks.

They turn and watch as the girl is deposited in the general public zone, where she crosses her arms and pouts.

“They’re not gonna throw her out?” Clint asks.

“Apparently,” Bucky shrugs. “Tony has a soft spot for tech fanatics.”

They look at each other for a moment and then laugh.

“Okay, let’s go in,” Clint nods his head at the curtain, and they step inside.

The VIP section is decorated similarly to the outside room, but there are a bunch of couches strewn about. There’s also a lot fewer people, and most of them Bucky already knows.

He takes quick stock of the room. On a couch to the left is Stark, surrounded by most of the unfamiliar people – but Stark will join Pepper anyway, sooner or later. Around the room in small groups are coworkers, people who also worked on the project, but Bucky dismisses them for now. It’s not that he doesn’t like some of them, but they’re not his goal at the moment.

Instead, he zeroes in on a couch a bit to the right, where Steve and Pepper appear to be in deep conversation.

Bucky can feel a smile stretch his face, the stress of the crowd outside melting away. These are the people he’s familiar with, the people he likes. And he knows eventually he’ll have to get used to new people but – well. He thinks he’s doing well for now.

“Come on,” he smiles at Clint. “There are some people I want you to meet.”


	5. Epilogue

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Bucky arrives late to the pub, having worked a long day, with Pepper in tow.

“Where are they?” she looks around.

“Back of the room, I think,” Bucky nods his chin. “At least if Nat got here first.”

“And she always does,” Pepper nods. “Let’s see if they’re there.”

They shoulder through the crowd, Bucky first with his prosthetic arm braced. It takes some wiggling, but soon they’re through.

In the back, just as Bucky had thought, two tables are pushed together, the whole group around it. Tony, unsurprisingly, is hiding behind his sunglasses even in the dim light, but he’s looking less defensive than last time so Bucky will forgive him that. Next to him, or to be more exact between Steve and Tony (and sitting awfully close to Steve) is a new guy, and Bucky can feel himself start to scowl.

New guy is friendly looking enough, but he’s new, and that’s unforgivable in Bucky’s opinion.

On Steve’s other side is Natasha, and at the edge is Clint, gesticulating widely, his new Stark aids glinting purple in the light.

“-so there we were, both of us idiots,-”

Natasha huffs.

“-and we’ve just beaten off the tracksuit mafia. So then Bucky comes over, and I try to tell him about my deep-seated insecurities, you know? But Bucky calls me an idiot, grabs me and voila licking faces!”

“Hey babe,” Bucky pokes him when he’s finished, Pepper stopping next to him. When Clint turns his head towards Bucky with a wide grin, he pecks Clint’s lips because, well, Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to resist that grin. “Don’t you think our friends have heard this story enough times?”

“Yeah, but Sam hasn’t,” Clint points at the guy next to Steve. “He’s new!”

“Hey man,” Sam nods at Bucky, and Bucky nods carefully back.

“I can see that,” he replies. “You a friend of Stevie here?”

“Yep,” Sam pops it. “Met him at work, we hit it off.”

“What do you work as?” Bucky asks him as he slides in next to Clint.

“Hey, don’t interrogate the nice man,” Clint pokes him in the side, but Bucky just scowls at him and looks at Natasha for help.

“He’s good,” she flashes a smile though, and Bucky relaxes.

“Okay, you can stay,” he announces to Sam, who snorts.

“Glad I meet your approval, man,” he shakes his head.

“Okay, so now that we sorted that,” Tony butts in, “Rhodeybear will be back stateside next week.”

“That’s nice!” Pepper smiles at him, and Tony stands up to let her in next to Sam. “Will he come?”

“I wanted to invite him, if that’s okay with you guys,” Tony pushes his sunglasses up even further, curling in a bit on himself and Bucky looks up, surprised.

A few months ago Tony would have just announced it or brought him unannounced (kind of what Steve has done, but they’ll talk about that). They’ve all changed so much, hadn’t they?

“Sure,” he shrugs, though a bit uncomfortable. “You said he’s Air Force, right? I wanna see if they’re as good as they like to brag.”

“No military talk!” Steve jumps in. “We agreed.”

Bucky huffs but leans back.

“Okay, so Sam this week, Rhodes next,” Natasha says. “Shouldn’t we look for a bigger place?”

“Nah,” Clint shakes his head quickly. “This is our place, they’ll just have to make space for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! I live off of comments, kudos and tea, so please feed me! <3


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